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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT.3) 


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^   l£S    III 20 


1.25 


1.4 


1.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


W>' 


<^c^ 


iK^^ 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  IVIicroreproductions  Institut  Canadian  de  cnicroreproductions  historiques 

1980 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 


Couverture  endommagde 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


n 


n 


Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int6rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  filmdes. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires; 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6X6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique.  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mithode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquis  ci-dessous. 


n 
n 

D 

D 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachetdes  ou  piqu6es 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtachdes 


D 


□    Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

r~|    Quality  of  print  varies/ 


Quality  in6gale  de  {'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Mition  disponible 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  filmdes  6  nouveau  de  fa^on  6 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


y 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


ails 

du 

>difier 

une 

nage 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grAce  d  la 
g^n^rositi  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetA  de  l'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  filmis  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED "),  or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END  "), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  —^-  isiignifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


rrata 
o 


pelure, 
1  d 


□ 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

1  2  3 

4  5  6 


HESIL 
VOLU 
TIIK 
OK    HI 


HESIDE  THE  NA1<RA(;UA(;US  .  .  T-EFNG    IHK  TENTH 

VOLUME  OF  THE  LOTUS    SERIES  .    .    .    PRINTED    HY 

THE    PETER    PAUL    BOOK    COMPANY    IN    THE    (  ITY 

OF    KUFFALO, 

MDCCCXCV. 


0 


JHIS  BOOK  IS  ISSUKD  IN  A  LIMITED  EDITION 
OK  SIX  HUNDRED  COPIES,  OK  WIIK  H  THIS 
IS    NO.     ^/i^^ 


I 


i 


Besidi-  the  Nakkagiagis 


f 


AND  OTHI'R  POEMS 


i 


HY 


ARTHUR  JOHN  LOCKMART 


i 


UUFFALO 

THE  PETER  PAUL  BOOK  O  »>n^\NV 

1S95 


1618G3 


CoPVRI(;ht,  1S95, 
IW  ARTMl'R  JOHN  LOCKIIART 


I'RINTKD  AND   HOl'ND   1!V 

THE   I'ETIiR    TAl'L   HOOK    COMPANY, 

lil'FlAI  O,    N.  Y. 


^j 


TO 


l?rof.  Cliiirlcs  (3.  D.  Uobcrts.Ql.iU., 


TIIK  KINDLY  CKITir  (.|- 

MV  kllVMIS, 
THi  -iK  AKE  INSCRIlilil). 


Still  walk  nmiJ  the  handful,  atul  h,to':v 
The  mystic  joy  to  eye  ami  heart  rei'ealea  : 
To  thee  all  secret  fountains  he  uns,ale;i, 

TnricheU  from  ivorhh  aloi'e  an.l  7v^->n\ls  hchic. 

lVith;,rreenin^  marshes  soft,  ~vhile  first  buds  ho7<>, 
'To  blossom  7(>ooed  by  hisses  of  the  Sfriui^, 
Be  thine  the  rapture  of  all  binls  that  sil[-. 

Be  at  thy  heart  L(n>e's  ever  last  in^^  r/,,^^,. 

Tor  fairer  seem  the  hills  my  l>oy hood  trod. 
And  bri^^hter  those  triumphal  xvaters  shine 
That  S7velled  to  match  my  :^ladness,  since  ent^oine 

Thy  skeins  of  music  der  the  sacred  sod; 
And  rich  doxvnv^olden  wastes,  at  thy  clear  call, 
The  burninor  /eaves  of  sunset  crimsoned  fall. 


1  -^ 


.1 


y- 


/I 


^ 

-^ 


5^ 


I 

4 


Jr 


a_. 


7 


t 


JL-J 


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CONTENTS. 


v5 

i 


MKSIDIC  rUHN.xK,.  \(;i\' 

I'AkNINc;  Kain  in  Mvv 

An  Am mn  ICvknim.     . 

Mv  Sm  \AN  Sll   I.Y 
N(.VI.MHI.;r  SUNSlil 

Snow     .  , 

K.\F,()\ 

Tm:\v.\Ti.;kS()|.  l"ari< 
Till,  isi, 1:01. ■s(i\( ; 

SWAI.I.OW  M.ICIITS.  ' 
I'.i.nw.  0  Wind      . 

lioN  \'oVA(,l:      . 

TilK  U'lM.IM,  WoKKKR 

Keveilli 

JUHM.AIK      . 

Jkkusai.km 
Ol'r  IIorkb 
SoNi; 

Thk  Maii)i;n  IOvk 
Si.i'MBER  Song 
SONc;     . 

THK  MIDXIGIIT  TRAIN 
HEKKUK 

MONT(;()Mi.:FiIK'SM  \l|) 
THi:  I'IkST  JUKI) 

"OK  ATin<:  AIRTS- 
HOMKSOXGS. 

An  Ai  ikn'sJVIkssagi: 

CHKIU'CTO 

i-hscarbot 
Sailing  Song 

I^E  RAiilLLIA 


TAGI'-. 

•  9 
10 

•  '3 
I  I 

•  i| 

16 

•  >9 

•  ^.S 
3t 

33 

•  34 
35 

•  3^> 
37 

•  3S 
39 

•  39 
40 

,  41 
44 
50 
55 
58 

62 
64 

^\S 
66 

67 


co4\7/u\'rs. 


■i\ 


CoMINt;  IIoMK 

( )i  II  Sain  i  Aniiki'.ws 

All.  At    Hn.MK    . 

Till';  Aril)  IIami-. 
(  Iasi-kk  Si  i:i  am 

"To  Tiiio-;  nil';  I.om-;  oi   Woman  IIa 
MoiN  I  I>h;siK  r    . 
S()\.\I;TS. 

I.r.\  II  I  Milk  A 
'l<<  Kai  I'll  n.  Smaw 

MmI'HSi.N 

I'KANKINCIsNSI';  AND  MVKPI 

Two  I'lvllNliS 

To  (i.  W.  VVkksi  i;ici) 
Thomas  C.  I-ai  io 
SicRvin-: 

Il'AN 

I.I'-.SSONS  IKOM  I.M.H'.S 

('■Kill's  I'lKSl    IIoiRS 

Vacation   . 
I''i'M'Ii.mi;nt    . 

l''ROSr-W«)RK 

Kain,  IIiiari)  ai  I'.ari  V  M»»knin(; 

Monicai.m 

Saini  Unmkmn 

WOI.IK 
l>Ari.AC 

Mv  Pi  ACK   . 
Thk  Dkskkt  Isi.i; 

ICICI.K  DUol'S 

Soi.iriTni.: 
ATTHK  l.K  ".HI- 
SIR  ADAMS  AKCHII5A1.I) 
TNI'.  KICARSARCI':    . 

TnicnrxTi-.R    . 

PRO  MIOMORIA 
Till-:  PARTING     . 

HY  tiiegasi'i:ri<:au 

LOVIC  AND  SONG 


II 


lO 


)(»\VN 


\(.R. 

69 
70 

7« 
72 

7.> 
75 


7'i 

77 
77 
7'^ 
79 
79 
80 
Si 
Si 

S2 

H.^ 
S,S 

S(i 

^7 
«7 

ss 

89 
89 

91 

9- 

92 

93 

94 

95 

98 

100 

102 

104 

107 

iio 

III 


I'ACR. 

.  r.s 

•  7« 
7> 

•  72 
N"  7.; 

75 

.  76 
77 

•  77 
7S 

•  79 
79 

.  80 

81 

.  Ri 

.S2 

s.s 

Sh 
87 

R7 

88 

89 
89 

91 

9' 

92 

93 

94 

95 

98 

100 

102 

104 

107 

Ho 
III 


t* 


BESIDE  THE  NARRAGUAGUS. 


I. 


EVENING  RAIN  IN  MAY. 

SODDEN  the  fields,  with  hollows  rankly  green; 
Great  drops  still  linger  on  the  darkening  pane; 
And  strenuous  robins,  prophesying  rain. 
Pipe  from  the  trees  that  toward  my  window  lean; 
Hoarse  rolls  the  swollen  river,  dimly  seen, — 
Mottled  with  frothy  patches;  while  its  breast. 
Filled,  like  my  own,  with  musical  unrest, — 
Is  thinly  covered  with  a  misty  screen. 
Crouched  'neath  umbrellas  go  the  passers-by. 
In  gloom  lone-vanishing;  a  wheelman  flies 
Swift  as  a  shadow  of  approaching  fate: 
Low  swamps  are  vocal  with  a  carping  cry; 
The  wayside  pools  have  querulous  minstrelsy; 
Lambs  bleat  aloof;  the  village  clock  strikes  eight. 


i 


j  ^  1-    -^  ;> .  g  ■v^/'  ~  -^ 


1   •    "1 


lO 


BESIDE  THE  NARRA GUAG US. 


II. 

AN  AUTUMN  EVENING. 

The  sun  is  set.    An  amber  mist 

Fills  all  the  vale: 
The  lapsing  river,  glory-kist, 
Is  gold  and  pearl  and  amethyst, 
Where  on  its  mirror-breast  the  beaded  bubbles  sail. 

Lo!  from  this  russet  hill  I  gaze 

On  such  a  scene 
As  poets  love  to  paint  and  praise; 
While  sunset's  guerdon  overpays 
My  heart  with  evening's  balm  and  splendor  so 
serene! 

The  dark  trees  stand  in  naked  grace; 

And  the  green  marge 
Is  softened  on  the  river's  face, 
With  flakes  of  fiery  cloud.     I  trace 
Its  flow  where  yon  dark  hill  casts  down  its  shadow 
large. 

I  sec  where  o'er  the  dam  it  goes 

In  music  down; 
And  sparkling,  breaks  its  sheen  repose, 
As  under  yon  red  bridge  it  flows. 
And  makes,  by  winding  banks,  its  circuit  through 
the  town. 


BESIDE  THE  NARRAGUAGUS. 


ZX 


Down-sent  from  forest-lakes,  begemmed 

With  islets  small; 
Here,  spreading  wide,  there,  closely  hemmed; 
With  eve's  soft  glories  diademed. 
Till  in  the  welcoming  sea  its  lover-waters  fall. 

By  mill,  and  mart,  and  home,  and  where 

'Mid  darkling  furze 
White  stones  outgleam,  (the  dead  lie  there). 
And  by  the  hallowed  place  of  prayer, — 
Aiding  with  constant  song  the  hymning  worshippers. 

In  immelodious  monotone 
The  mills  I  hear; — 
The  rattling  gear,  the  waters'  drone, 
The  saws'  shrill  screech.    Now,  duskier  grown 
Tlie  eve,  I  see  aloft  a  fiery  shaft  uprear, — 

A  luminous,  sparkling  column,  curled 

Above  the  trees: 
It's  ever-bright' ning  folds  unfurled, 
As  gentle  shadows  wrap  the  world, 
While  still  my  ear  is  lulled  with  river-melodies. 

All  burdens  fall  away,— my  heart 

Again  is  free! 
Time's  paly  haggard  ghosts  depart: 
Blest  be  the  hour!     'Tis  more  than  Art, 
This  grandeur  and  this  calm  of  earth,  and  air  and 
sea! 


19 


BESIDE  THE  NARRAGUAGVS. 


In  this  wide  world  of  dream,  I  yield 

Myself  to  you — 
Spirit  serene  of  flood  and  field! 
No  sweeter  harvest  Time  can  yield 
Than  I  have  reaped  'neath  stars,  and  'mid  the 
falling  dew! 


\ 


Sing  on,  O  river!  while  I  still 

May  sit  to  hear: 
Ah!  soon,  upon  this  lonely  hill 
Some  other  eye  and  heart  shall  All 
With  tears  and  raptures  fine,  to  list  thee  singing 
near. 


I  love  thee — creature,  jubilant,  free! 

And  not  alone 
For  thine  own  loveliness! — Ah,  me! 
The  joy,  the  pain,  of  memory! 
Thou  speak'st  the  vale,  the  stream,  my  musing 
youth  hath  known!    " 


Sing  on,  O  river!    I  am  glad 

That,  though  I  fail 
From  this  sweet  scene,  to  wander  wl  ;re 
Far  other  woods  and  streams  are  fair, 
Thou  ever    stay'st  to  chant    the    music    of   thy 
vale. 


^^  2J>    O*  <-  c  /?  ^(.  • 


BESIDE  THE  NARRAGUAGUS. 


13 


I've  loved  thee  well,  thou  thing  of  light 

And  melody! 
Ah,  Narraguagus!  when  the  night 
All  starless  wraps  me  from  earth's  sight, 
And  other  lovers  come,  wilt  thou  remember  me  ? 


thy 


III. 


r    »• 


MY  SYLVAN  STUDY. 

This  is  my  oratory.    Studious,  oft 

I  come,  at  morn,  at  eve,  to  this  retreat: 
Wild  is  the  bower,  and  ancient  is  the  seat; — 
My  chair,  a  rock  with  grass  and  mosses  soft 
Fringed  and  enamelled.     In  a  neighboring  croft 
My  children  sport,  not  far  from  my  own  door, 
Searching  out  leaves  and  flowers — a  beauteous 
store; 
The  blackbirds  chatter  sociably  aloft; 
Round  me  grouped  silvery    birches,  thorns    full- 
flushed 
With  milky  blossoms;  on  my  open  page 
Lie  shadowy  leaves,  jeweled  in  golden  light: 
And  hark!  a  voice,  whose  music  straight  is  hushed! 
Quick-pattering  steps  my  partial  ear  engage. 
And  little  Golden-hair  laughs  on  my  sight! 


1.1     - 


■\v\ 


^^, 


'  r}"^-^  Qyest-    r.r  v..fl  ■k  vf  - 


14 


BESIDE  THE  NA  RRA  G  UA  G  US. 


IV. 

NOVEMBER  SUNSET. 

Not  the  attire  of  kings,  when  crowns  are  set 
'Mid  coronation  splendors,  has  such  sheen 
As  now  in  these  November  skies  is  seen; 
Where  late  the  Day  in  his  fire-chariot 
Rode  down  the  western  hills,  that  lighten  yet! 
Twilight  her  tent  of  purple  and  (if  gold 
Pitches  on  yon  dark  crag,  and  manifold 
Dapples  the  river,  where  its  waters  fret 
Past  the  low  bank,  in  leafless  quietude. 
The  new  moon  haloes  soft  her  crystal  sphere; 
Glassed  'mid  the  shadowed  trees  she  beauteous 
lies! 
Such  glory  comes  to  gild,  such  peace  to  brood. 
Changing  to  gold  and  pearl  the  dark'ning  year, 
The    month  of   wailing  winds  and   shadowy 
skies. 


V. 
SNOW. 


Sharp  are  the  thrusts  of  this  keen-bladed  wind, 
'Gainst  which  I  hug  my  mantle;  frosty-grim 
Its  arctic  surge  into  my  eyes,— so  dim 

With  night  and  tears,  I  scarce  my  way  can  find: 


BESIDE  THE  NARRAGUAGUS. 


15 


et 


et! 


No  sleighs  to-night  with  music  ring  behind 
T*  o'ertake  my  wavering  steps;  no  starry  beam; 
No  skaters  gUding  o'er  the  frozen  stream. 

With  shout  and  song,  sweet  to  the  cheerful  mind; 

But  the  wild-wailing  North, — the  courier-sweep 
Of  aery  cars,  with  frosty  fire-dust  laden, — 

Winter's  white  harvest  winnowing  to  and  fro. 
— Sad-hearted,  I  not  care,  though  I  should  sleep, 
Wrapt  in  a  shroud  cold  as  some  hapless  maiden 
Has  wound  about  her  by  the  outcast  Snow. 


lere; 
lauteous 

)()d, 
year, 
ladowy 


ind. 


d: 


T 


KALON. 


>  I 


The  golden  secret  the  sought  "  Kalon  "  found.— Manfred. 

SING  me  a  song,  O  Star! 
Skirting  the  pearly  edge  of  yonder  cloud. 
Do  birds  of  dream  with  white  wings  sail  so  far 
The  argent  coasts  of  splendor,  where  ye  are  ? 
Know  ye  warm  hearts,  or  spirits  nobly  proud, 
Or  anything  like  death,  or  grieving  pain  ? 
Or  do  ye  smile  secure,  and  scorn  to  know 
Such  impotent  infirmity  of  woe; 
Where  with  your  silver  arrows  lieth  slain 
The  fateful  dark  far  o'er  your  azure  plain  ? 
Of  bliss  that  Fortune  doth  from  Time  debar 
Sing  me  a  song,  O  Star! 

Sing  me  a  song,  O  Night! 

Musing,  bejeweled  on  thy  shadowy  throne. 
Vision  ye  not  the  day  with  your  bright  eyes, 
Whose  shining  crown  from  mortals  hidden  lies  ? 

The  touch  of  rosy  lips,  the  flowery  breath 
Of  Tithon, — odors,  gleams,  hues,  melodies, — 
O  Ethiop  mother!  ken  ye  aught  of  these? 

i6 


KALON.  .  17 

Art  thou  content  with  silence  starry  strewn, — 
Tlie  pathway  of  the  lonely  wandering  moon  ? 
Or  is  it  thine,  the  secret  joy,  to  bring 
The  covert  dawn  under  thy  dusky  wing  ? 
Of  restful  Sleep,  the  womb  of  mortal  might, 
Sing  me  a  song,  O  Night! 

Sing  me  a  song,  O  Sea! 

Beating  the  rocky  boundary  of  thy  shore. 
Thou  hast  all  sorrow;  thine  the  awful  lore 
Of  ages;  thine  the  pomp, — the  passionate  roar 

Of  Time;  tlie  anthem  of  ICternity! 

Is  thy  breast  bitter  for  the  wrong  of  Earth  ? 

Is  thy  wave  salt  with  dropping  of  our  tears  ? 

And  art  thou  barren  for  our  human  dearth, 

When  joy  is  flown  and  rapture  disappears  ? 

Come  closer,  yet!  my  stormy  grief  control, — 

Thou  restless  emblem  of  my  restless  soul! 
Wash  out  my  woes,  waft  me  from  weeping  free, 
And  sing  to  me,  O  Sea! 

Sing  me  a  song,  O  Death! 

Smooth  the  pale  brow,  the  quiet  limbs  cotnpose, 
And  softly  steal  away  the  floating  breath: 
Is  thy  touch  only  blight?  —  Time  wearieth; 

Art  thou  our  rest, — the  end  of  all  our  woes  ? 

O  shadowy  Angel!  what  dost  thou  behold 

Beyond  that  final  ridge  of  blossomy  mould, — 


!      t: 


■S: 


■J 


i8 


KALON. 


Our  boundary  here  ?    O,  is  there  hope,  or  day, 
Or  space,  where  hfe  may  hold  unhindered  way  ? 
Breathe  nie  thy  meaning!  with  thine  opiate  lull 
My  pain,  and  waft  me  to  the  Beautiful! 
The  gate  of  Song  unbar — the  gate  of  Dream, 
Where  all  things  are  what  here  they  only  seem^ 
Where  all  is  found  as  the  Soul's  vision  saith:— 
Sing  me  thy  song,  O  Deatli! 


THE  WATERS  OF  CARR. " 

ODO  you  hear  the  merry  waters  falling, 
In  the  mossy  woods  of  Carr? 
O  do  you  hear  the  child's  voice,  calling,  calling, 
Through  its  cloistral  deeps  afar? 
'Tis  the  Indian's  babe,  they  say, 
Fairy  stolen;  changed  a  fay; 
And  still  I  hear  her,  calling,  calling,  calling, 
In  the  mossy  woods  of  Carr! 

O  hear  you,  when  the  weary  world  is  sleeping, 

(  Dim  and  drowsy  every  star, ) 
This  little  one  her  happy  revels  keeping 
In  her  halls  of  shining  spar  ? 
Clearer  swells  her  voice  of  glee, 
While  the  liquid  echoes  flee, 
And  the  full   moon  through   deep  green  leaves 
comes  peeping. 
In  the  dim-lit  woods  of  Carr. 

Know  ye  from  her  wigwam  how  they  drew  her, 

VV^anton- willing,  far  away, — 
Made  the  wild-wood  halls  seem  home  unto  her, 

Changed  her  to  a  laughing  fay  ? 

19 


S\ 


"--  "nc.  i  a 


■?^  e 


.^i 


I  V    fe  (-V        l"'  ^ 


F 


Sh, 


30 


THE  WA  TERS  OF  CARR. 


Never  doth  her  bosom  burn, 
Never  asks  she  to  return; — 
Ah,  vainly  care  and  sorrow  may  pursue  her, 
Laughing,  singing,  all  the  day! 

And  often,  when  the  golden  west  is  burning, 

Ere  the  twilight's  earliest  star, 
Comes  her  mother,  led  by  mortal  yearning 
Where  the  haunted  forests  are; — 
Listens  to  the  rapture  wild 
Of  her  vanish 'd  fairy  child: 
Ah,  see  her  then,  with  smiles  and  tears,  returning 
From  the  sunset  woods  of  Carr! 

They  feed  her  with  the  amber  dew  and  honey. 

They  bathe  her  in  the  crystal  spring, 
They  set  her  down  in  open  spaces  sunny. 
And  weave  her  an  enchanted  ring; 
They  will  not  let  her  beauty  die. 
Her  innocence  and  purity; 
They  sweeten  her  fair  brow  with  kisses  many, 
And  ever  round  her  dance  and  sing. 


O  do  you  hear  the  merry  waters  falling. 

In  the  mossy  woods  of  Carr? 
O  do  you  hear  the  child's  voice,  calling,  calling, 

Through  its  cloistral  deeps  afar  ? 


THE  WA  TERS  OF  CARR. 

Never  thrill  of  plaintive  pain 
Mingles  with  that  ceaseless  strain;— 
But  still  I  hear  her  joyous  calling,  calling, 
In  the  morning  woods  of  Carr! 


21 


ning 


»ig, 


H 


•H^ 


frsj 


f^ 


NAIN. 


And  He  came  and  ttjuchfHl  the  bier,  and  they  that  hare 
him  stood  still. 

MASTER!  and  wilt  Thou  come  to  our  small 
Nain, 
Amid  love's  lone  farewells,  and  life's  sad  closes? 

And  wilt  Thou  share  our  tears,  and  ease  our  pain, 
And  touch  the  bier  on  which  our  dead  reposes  ? 

Well  may  the  bearers  pause,  if  Thou  draw  nigh, 
And  the  slow,  mournful  train  entranct^d  listen; 

And  well  appear  the  lights  of  wondering  joy 
'Neath  low-drooped  lids,  where  tears  were  wont 
to  glisten. 

The  genial  rose,  that  the  dear  cheek  forsook, 
Now  will  it  bloom,  now  will  the  dull  eye  brighten? 

And   Death's  cold  band,   with  thrilling  tone  and 
look, 
Wilt  Thou  again  unclasp,  our  woe  to  lighten  ? 

33 


NAIN. 


n 


•are 

lall 

es? 
lin, 
s? 


out 


en? 
ind 


Ah,  not  to-day!  thouRh  Tlion  shouldst  come  so 
near 

Thy  seaniltss  robe  aj;ainst  the  l)ier  nii^ht  press; 
Not  now  Tliy  voice  shall  thrill  the  nniftlfd  ear, 

Soothing  the  grieving  heart  with  gentleness. 

Well,  if  Thou  do  but  with  us  silent  stand, 
And  in  the  awful  shadow  by  us  linger. 

To  point  us  outward  to  the  Hetttr  Land, 
And  touch  our  sleeping  one  with  hallowed  finger. 

Then,  though  the  loved  form  waken  not,  nor  rise, 
Though  yet  the  long  {procession  onward  nioveth. 

Though  the  tomb  close,  to  Mary's  sad  surprise, 
Is  it  not  Lazarus,  whom  the  Master  loveth  ? 

Thyjhour  we  wait:  let  hearts,  all  sorrow-laden 
Lay,  with  sweet  tears,  their  precious  ones  away; 

The  widow's  only  son,  the  beauteous  maiden, 
Shall  fresh  from  slumber  wake  at  break  of  day. 

With  mighty  mirth,  with  trumpets  of  the  morning, 
The  dwellers  of  mortality  shall  sing. 

And,by  their  bright'ning  homeward  track  returning, 
Wave  the  green  palms  of  life's  eternal  sprinj 


So  we  are  comforted,  since  Thou  hast  promised 
That  Thou  wilt  lowly  speak,  and  with  us  be; 

And,  if  by  Nain  or  Bethany  Thou  comest, 
Thy  garments  breathe  of  Immortality. 


% 


u 


{ 


r 


1 


24 


NAIN. 


Take  up  the  precious  burden,  graveward  going, 
O  dreaming  bearers,  lingering  in  the  way! 

The  winter-wheat  in  frosty  furrows  sowing, 
To  feel  the  impulse  of  some  genial  May. 

We  welcome  Sorrow,  walking  close  with  Thee; 

And  Death,  when  on  his  dreadless  track  Thou 
comest, 
Sliall  have  our  tearful  hospitality, 

With  the  dear  life  Thou  gavest  and  resumest. 

Re  in  the  mournful  rite,  the  tender  word, 
The  song,  Earth's  grief  and  Heaven's  rapture 
telling; 

Be  Thou  at  empty  bed,  and  vacant  board. 
In  gloom  and  silence  of  our  lonely  dwelling. 

Hallow  each  bitter  circumstance  of  grief, 
Make  benison  the  unexpected  sorrow: 

If  now  Thou  give  tlie  burdened  heart  relief. 
We  can  await  the  rest — in  Thy  to-morrow. 


■  1 


W 


I A 


i 


i 


T 


I 


THE  ISLE  OF  SONG. 

I  DREAMED  of  a  white  isle,  girt  by  such  seas 
As  never  foam  nor  freeze; 
So  lonely-rare  the  world  hath  never  come, 
But  poets  make  its  solitude  their  home. 

The  cherub  wind  flew  downward  in  delight, 
Toying  with  wave-tips  white; 
And  happy  singing  maids,  hand  link'd  in  hand, 
Danced  over  tracts  of  snowy-golden  sand. 

Infinite  pearls  of  shadow,  lay  the  shells 
Where  wove  the  sea  its  spells; 
And  the  shy  nymphs  tossed  up  their  shining  hair, 
While  the  sun  glimmered  on  their  shoulders  bare. 

Tall  pines  were  overhung,  and  fringed  palms, 
Where  the  soft  sea  sung  psalms; 
And  from  its  dell  each  scented  inland  air 
Bore  breath  of  opening  blossoms  everywhere. 

An  echoey  temple,  bent  that  arch  of  blue; 
And  moon  and  otar  peered  through 

25 


■'.il' 


w 


26 


THE  ISLE  OF  SONG. 


The  myriad  mossy  arms  of  many  a  glade, 
Where  lovers  silent  walked,  and  unafraid. 


T^ 


u 


' 


The  daughters,  who  on  earth  had  suffered  wrong, 
Famed  in  romantic  song, 
Were  seen  by  glimpses,  beauteous  as  of  yore. 
Walking  down  dim  wood-alleys  to  the  shore. 

The  Ausonian  fair,  the  Tuscan's  holy  maid. 
Passed  thro*  the  myrtle  glade; 
Gentlest  of  woman-kind,  whose  hearts  had  bled, 
And  they  whom  poets  wept,  but  might  not  wed. 

Leaping  with  laughter,  gurgled  down  the  stream; 

Then  nmrmured  in  a  dream 

Along  the  vale,  or  jubilantly  free. 

Till  kissed  to  voiceless  rapture  by  the  sea. 

There  bright-eyed  Fancy  roved,  and  slaked  her  thirst 
Where  earliest  dreams  are  nursed; 
There  Harmony  her  winnowing  wings  outspread. 
And  round  the  shores  and  through  the  groves  forth 
sped. 

And  when  the  moon  was  silverly  revealed 
In  her  ambrosial  field, 

Down  to  the  shore,  with  harps  no  longer  dumb, 
Fearless  of  death  I  saw  the  poets  come. 


A  -.- 


7}  i-e 


}•  a  . 


i  ir'-.  r^ej?)-,  ^-e 


J 


forth 


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b, 


THE  ISLE  OF  SONG.  37 

A  wondrous  Genius  led  them,  and  impelled, 
Who,  when  their  songs  excelled. 
Plucked  the  fresh  laurel  for  the  victor's  wreath, 
And  showed  the  fame  that  cometh  after  death. 

There,  in  that  glorious  cluster  of  renown 

Which  to  the  shore  came  down, 

I  saw  a  deathless  and  fraternal  few 

Whom  in  the  flesh  erewhile  I  loved  and  knew. 

For  with  his  harp  stood  the  benignant  shade 

Who  sang  the  Acadian  Maid;  " 

And  at  his  side  the  reverend  bard  appears 

Who,  in  sweet  Roslyn,  marked  the  flood  of  years.  "^ 

And  with  them  were  the  sons  of  ages  gone, 
But  now  whose  years  are  one: 
I  knew  them  well,  for  I  had  loved  them  long. 
Kissed  their  dead  faces,  brooded  o'er  their  song. 

Gather'd  with  these  resplendent  sons  of  fame 
Were  some  of  lowlier  name; 
Artlessly  sweet  as  are  the  building  broods 
That  carol  in  the  morn  thro'  springtide  woods. 

And  there  were  music's  daughters,  and  the  brides 
Of  beauty,  whose  soft  tides 

Of  song  set  toward  me;— Sappho  swart,  and  she — 
Britain's  white  rose,  belov'd  of  Italy.  '" 


'  i^       1       VS  •    "5   <^^  ■^■' 


'1  *.  ^ 


j(i< 


^V(ys,  '5>^w->^r>iA . 


28 


THE  ISLE  OF  SONG. 


■  * 


•\ 


Corinna,  match'd  with  Pindar;  Miriam, 
Beating  the  lofty  psalm 
Out  on  her  timbrel;  and  that  double  star, 
The  prophetess  and  poet,  Deborah. 

And  some  were  there  who  scarce  had  strung  their 

lyres 
Ere  grief  had  rent  the  wires; 
Too  soon  for  fame  on  earth,  the  Destinies 
Transferred  their  spirits  to  their  genial  skies. 

There  they  who  chanted  Israel's  lore  sublime 
Sang  to  the  sea's  soft  chime; 
And  there  Etruria's  bard  had  kindred  place,  ^ 
While  a  sweet  smile  lit  up  his  mournful  face. 

Holding  a  lily,  stood  the  Bard  Divine  ! 
O'er  him  the  fruited  vine 
Hung  high  its  purple  clusters.     His  the  spell, 
Of  harp  or  tongue,  most  wildly  musical. 

Clomb  roses,  white  and  red.     But  his  deep  eyes 
Were  turned  upon  the  skies; 
A  shining  dove  was  lighting  on  his  wrist. 
And  near  him  stood  the  rapt  Evangelist. 

There  they  of  Hellas  and  the  Mantuan  plain, 
Smote  their  sweet  chords  amain; 
Homer  had  his  clear  song  and  vision  bright. 
Nor  Milton's  orbs  must  roll  to  find  the  light. 


rlvl« 


THE  ISLE  OF  SONG. 


29 


g  their 


yes 


S 


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There  he,  of  the  serene,  capacious  brow, 
Dwelt  'neath  the  laurel  bough; 
Song's  matchless  one,  the  brightest  of  his  peers,— 
Star  that  on  Avon  rose  in  earlier  years! 

But,  when  I  saw  my  earliest  love  draw  near, 

And  heard  his  song  sincere 

That  charmed  sweet  Doon,  and  did   its  cadence 

suit — 
To  rustic  Coila's  step  and  woodland  flute; 

While  Rydal  raised  his  grave  and  reverend  face 
To  Shelley's  child-hued  grace; 
And  he,  whose  dust  'neath  Latium's  violets  lies,  '"' 
Lifted  to  me  his  soul  in  lang'rous  eyes; — 

And  nearer  to  the  margcnt  Tasso  came, 

As  if  it  were  his  aim 

To  launch  a  pearly  boat,  laid  on  the  shore, 

Whence  Spenser's  self  had  landed  just  before;— 

With  tears  I  reached  to  them  my  arms,  and  cried: 

"  Let  me  not  be  denied! 

Take  me  to  your  serene,  immortal  shore. 

Where  hearts  faint  not  nor  song  is  hindered  more! 

"Forlorn,  companionless,  in  dread  and  dearth, 
And  weary  of  the  earth. 

Rid  n»e  to  be  with  you,  ye  much-loved  throng! 
Life  is  too  lonely  for  the  child  of  song." 


w 


1*, 


■ « 


I 


30 


THE  ISLE  OF  SONG, 


Their  beckoning  hands  I  saw,  nor  longer  stayed, 
But  ardently  essayed 

To  join  them  in  the  place  of  their  delight, 
And  swell  with  them  the  rapture  of  the  night. 

But  ere  upon  that  white  sea-fretted  marge 
I  landed,  from  my  barge, 
Where,  by  the  dreamful  wave's  most  silvery  lip, 
Lingered  for  me  that  goodly  fellowship; — 

Dim  from  mine  eyes  went  the  illustrious  host, — 
Each  beauteous,  fading  ghost; 
Melted  their  isle  like  snow.     Alone  I  lay: 
And  lo!  it  was  the  breaking  of  the  day! 


i  ' 
i  ' 

? 


I  ! 


SWALLOW  FLIGHTS. 


I. 
BLOW,  O  WIND. 

BREATHE,   mountain    wind -thou    breath    of 
God ! 
The  plain  is  hot  below; 
Tlie  petals  of  the  fainting  rose 
Fall  like  a  scented  snow. 

Come,  from  the  cedar-heights,'  the  towers 

Of  glorious  Lebanon! 
Till  lilies  lift  their  languid  cheeks, 

All  amorous  of  the  sun. 

Breathe,  wind  of  God-thou  south- wind,  blow' 

For  frost  is  fall'n  amain;— 
Breathe  quickly!  or  our  flowering  hopes 

By  the  keen  North  are  slain. 

Thy  breath  of  balm,  O  spirit  sweet, 

Bnngs  summer  to  my  soul ! 
Then  like  a  bird  my  bosom  sings 

When  Love  hath  made  me  whole. 


1: 
i 

Ml 
'A 


31 


i' 


32 


SIVALLOIV  FLIGHTS. 


Then,  as  the  spicy  odors  flow 

From  every  bloom  abroad, 
O'er  desert-fields  my  life  shall  go, 

Warm-sweetened  by  my  God. 

Blow,  mountain  freshness,  downward  blow! 

Where  spirits  languished  lie; 
Wind  of  the  South,  O  softly  blow, 

Till  brumal  shadows  fly! 

While,  like  the  roe  o'er  hills  of  balm. 

Our  souls  do  homeward  move, 
Still  let  the  bounding  pulse  be  joy. 

Be  life  perpetual  Love. 


II. 


BON  VOYAGE. 

Spirit!  by  what  fearful  way 

Art  thou  gone, 
And  what  tempest's  sudden  sway 

Speeds  thee  on! 
When  the  calm  is  on  once  more 
Whither  drifts  thy  boat  ashore  ? 

Courage!  there  is  surely  One 

Rules  the  sea. 
Who,  where  wrath  and  ruin  run, 

Hideth  thee! 


f 


Sl^ALLOlf^  FLIGHTS. 

Little  ill  can  tempest  do, 
If  the  pilot-heart  be  true. 


33 


III. 
THE  WILLING  WORKER. 

Richly  the  grapes  in  thy  vineyard,  O  Lord! 

Hang  in  their  clusters  of  purple  delight: 
I  have  attended  the  call  of  thy  word, 

Working  for  Tliee  since  the  dawning  of  light: 
Sweetly  the  sunset  gleams  over  the  lea, 
Yet  I'm  not  weary  of  working  for  Thee. 

Ripe  are  the  fruits  in  Thy  garden,  O  Lord! 

Fair  are  the  flowers  thou  lovest  to  twine: 
Master!  no  labor,  no  pains,  I  have  spared; 

Long  have  I  wrought  in  this  garden  of  Thine: 
Many  the  stars  that  in  heaven  I  see, 
Yet  I'm  not  weary  of  working  for  Thee. 

Deep  wave  thy  harvests  in  acres  untold; 

Gladly  I  reaped  in  the  heat  of  the  day; 
Now  the  moon  rises  in  fulness  of  gold, 

Slowly  the  reapers  are  moving  away: 
Wide  is  the  plain,  and  not  many  are  we, 
Yet  I'm  not  weary  of  working  for  Thee. 


\^. 


34 


Sll'AI.LOir  FL IGH  TS. 


Dim  are  my  eyes  in  the  fast-fading  light; 

Falters  my  heart  from  the  toilsome  constraint; 
Scant  on  my  forehead  my  locks  have  grown  white ;- 

Lord  !  'tis  the  body  grows  weary  and  faint ! 
Finished,  the  task  Thou  hast  given  to  me, 
Yet  Fm  not  weary  of  working  for  Thee. 


IV. 

REVEILLI. 

Bugi.es  of  light,  upspringing, 
Sound  on  these  hills  of  rime; 

r)ells  of  the  lily  swinging, 
King  in  the  morning  prime: 

All  ye  are  calling — singing! 

On  conies  the  glad  sun,  bringing 
Blossoms  of  Easter  time! 

Herald  of  waxing  splendor! 

After  the  frost  and  gloom, 
Now  shall  be  green  most  tender, 

Now  shall  be  fairest  bloom! 
Spring !  all  her  angels  attend  her  ! 
Singing  of  Death's  surrender, 

Chanting  the  broken  tomb! 

Spring  of  the  heart,  immortal, — 

Risen  Immanuel ! 
Breathe  !  till  the  dry  dust  startle, 

Warm  from  its  frozen  cell  I 


Slf^ALLOir  FLIGHTS. 

Open  the  sky-ward  portal 
Into  the  high  immortal 
Home,  where  Thy  people  dwell ! 


35 


V. 

JUBILATE. 

Sing,  O  ye  heavens  !  be  joyful,  O  ye  earth  ! 

Break  into  singling,  O  ye  silent  hills  ! 

Leap  down  your  rocky  glens,  ye  jubilant  rills, 
Wake  all  your  summer  vales  to  golden  mirth  ! 
Peace  smiles  and  sits  by  many  a  lonely  hearth; 

The  Lord  His  bruistid  ones  hath  comforted  ! 

Their  tears,  too,  lighter  run  who  mourned  the 
dead 
When  warriors  led  triumphant  legions  forth. 

Sing,  O  ye  heavens  !  the  bleeding  land  is  not 
By  God  forgotten  !     In  the  blood-red  sea 
Faith  toiled  with  Freedom, — nor  the  cause  they  lost! 

Sing,  O  ye  heavens!  a  race  from  bondage  brought! 
A  nation,  saved  from  shame  to  liberty  ! 
How  glorious  !     Yet,  how  terrible  the  cost ! 


ii 


'        I 


II 


'■. ) 


35  SlVALLO^r  FLIGHTS. 

VI. 

JERUSALEM. 

"  When  he  beheld  the  city  he  wept  over  it." 

O  CITY  of  my  love— Jerusalem  ! 
Thou  sittest  as  a  queen,  with  diadem 

And  royal  mantle  on: 
O  city  of  my  heart — I  see  thy  glory  gone  ! 

0  city  of  my  love — ^Jerusalem  ! 

1  mourn  for  thee,  and  worship's  richest  gem 

Of  snowy  stone: 
I  see  the  foe  rush  in,  and  thou  art  overthrown! 

0  city  of  my  love— Jerusalem  ! 

1  mourn  for  thee,  but  more  I  mourn  for  them — 

Thy  stubborn  sons  self-willed: 
I  see  their  hate  return — their  awful  doom  fulfilled. 

0  city  of  my  love — ^Jerusalem  ! 

1  came  to  save,  I  came  not  to  condemn; 

To  guard  and  gather  thee 
As  bird  her  brood  I  came;  but  ye  would  none  of  me! 

O  city  of  my  love — ^Jerusalem  I 

Hadst  thou  but  known  the  things  revealed  to  them 

Whose  hearts  are  timely  wise: 
But  now  they  must  be  hid  forever  from  thine  eyes  ! 


Sl^ALLOll^  FLIGHTS. 


37 


0  city  of  my  love — ^Jerusalem  ! 

1  see  thee  sit  without  thy  diadem, 

Sunk  from  thy  (|ueenly  state: 
Behold  thy  house  is  left  unto  thee  desolate  ! 


VII. 

OUR  HOREB. 

My  God!  how  awful  is  the  place 

Where  Thou  art  found, — 
Whose  presence  sanctifies  all  space, 

Hallows  all  ground  ! 

Not  'mid  the  desert's  silent  scene; 

And  not  alone 
Where  cherub  doth  to  cherub  lean, 

A-near  the  Throne, 

Nor  where  the  turret's  fretted  spires 

Mark  vaulted  tomb; 
And  floats  the  breathing  of  soft  choirs 

'Mid  gorgeous  gloom; — 

Not  there  alone;  but  everywhere, 

Art  Thou  revealed, — 
Ev'n  in  the  unenchanted  air, 

The  common  field. 


'  I 


I 


,  's 


'     i 


■A 


■  i 


38  SWALLO l^  FLIGHTS. 

No  burning  bush  the  eye  may  greet, 

No  clear  voice  sound: 
"  Put  off  the  sandals  from  thy  feet; 

'Tis  holy  ground  !  " 

Yet  lurking  marvels  wait  the  eye, 

Secluded,  low, — 
Weird  mysteries  of  the  sea  and  sky, 

Of  star  and  snow. 

Not  blind,  not  frivolously  dull. 

Lord  !  let  me  be. 
Where  in  Thy  temple.  Beautiful, 

I  may  see  Thee  ! 

Let  me  not  speak,  but  silently 

List,  and  rejoice: 
Better  to  speak  no  word  for  aye 

Than  miss  Thy  voice  ! 

Bid  me  with  reverent  step  draw  near, 

And  calmly  move; 
With  tranquil  joy,  with  filial  fear, 

With  child-like  love. 

VIII. 

SONG. 

A  GLEAM  broke  out  of  a  roseate  sky 
From  the  feet  of  an  angel  coming  to  Heaven's 
door; 


!| 


SirALLOlV  FLIGHTS. 


39 


And  the  sound  of  a  song  came  floating  by, 
Mingled  with  chords  of  a  golden  harp  she  bore. 

A  path  led  down  to  the  purple  shore 

Of  cloudland,  laved  by  a  sea  of  shining  flame; 
And  singing,  singing  from  Heaven's  door, 

Downward  to  me  this  music  angel  came. 


^1 

A 

n 


IX. 


THE  iMAIDEN  EVE. 

The  maiden  Eve  is  a  bride  to-night, 

And  her  brow  is  bound  with  a  circlet  bright, 

And  her  robe  of  blue,  in  every  fold, 

Is  sprinkled  and  starred  with  dust  of  gold. 

And  I  at  the  holy  altar  stand, 
Holding,  sweet  Mary,  thy  lily-white  hand: 
Fair  is  thy  face,  and  thine  eye  is  bright, 
For  thou,  meek  maid,  art  a  bride  to-night! 


t 


i 


X. 

SLUMBER  SONG. 

Trom  Nehilakin. 

Softly,  my  baby! 
Nestle,  sweet  blossom!  on  mother's  warm  bosom! 
Of  dewiest  slumber  thou  sippest  thy  fill. 


40 


SlVALLOir  FLIGHTS. 


Still  dimmer  and  dimmer  the  ashy  coals  glimmer,- 

The  lodge  lies  in  gloom: 

How  balmy  the  breath  of  the  forest  in  bloom! 
The  owl  is  hooting  afar  on  the  hill, 
And  deep  in  the  glade  sings  the  brown  whip-poor- 
will; 
The  star  doth  incline  to  the  tip  of  yon  pine, — 

She  smiles  like  a  maiden  stooped  over  a  rill, 
She  hath  oped  her  bright  bosom,  so  softly  to  shine; 

The  full  moon  is  rising;   the  aspen  is  still. 
O  mother's  sweet  blossom,  lie  still  on  tny  bosom! 
Sleep  softly,  my  baby! 


SONG. 

What  the  star  is  to  the  sky. 
And  the  pearl  is  to  the  sea. 

What  the  light  is  to  the  eye, 
And  the  leaf  is  to  the  tree; 

What  the  joy  of  mounting  wings 

To  the  bird  that  soars  and  sings. 
Thou  art  to  me. 

Like  to  halcyon  heavenly  calm, 
After  strife  of  stormy  sea. 

Like  an  hour  of  ease  and  balm 
After  moan  and  agony; 

Or  the  summer's  golden  glow 

Over  bursts  of  wintery  snow, 
Thou  art  to  me. 


I    : 


THE  MIDNIGHT  TRAIN. 

THROUGH  Earth's  blindness  not  an  eye 
Scanneth  star  or  fire-fly, 
Nor  the  jeweled  summer  moon 
Brightening  o'er  the  brow  of  June: 
Two  stand  darkly,  once  again, 
At  this  station  of  the  glen, 
'Mid  the  mingling  mist  and  rain. 
Waiting  for  the  midnight  train. 
All  is  silence! — not  a  whisper 
In  the  wood  of  light  leaf-lisper; 
Silence — broke  by  muffled  feet 
That  this  sloppy  platform  beat. 
Hark!  the  rising  murmurs  say, 
'Mid  the  spaces  far  away, — 
Ye  who  seek,  or  leave,  your  homes, 
Lo!  the  fiery  motor  comes! 
Now,  from  out  the  silence  steals 
Rolling  of  the  mighty  wheels! 
Soon  the  echoey  shrieks  distress 
All  the  quiet  wilderness. 
Falling  off  in  woeful  plight, 
Down  the  shadowy  aisles  of  night! 

41 


\i 


42 


THE  MIDNIGHT  TRAIN. 

Yonder,  through  the  dusky  air, 

Sudden  burst  a  hastening  glare. 

As  if  Polypheme's  red  eye 

Shone  at  once  from  out  the  sky; 

And  with  crackling  tramp,  vibrating 

Down  each  rail,  with  hot  pulsating 

Of  the  monster's  iron  breast. 

Comes  the  gride  of  brakes  down-pressed, 

And  a  momentary  rest: 

Motionless,  amid  the  rain. 

Stands  at  length,  the  midnight  train! 

Hurried  word,  and  swift  good-bye! 
Who  is  here  ?    I — only  I — 
Linger,  as,  with  jerk  and  strain. 
Starts  yon  tireless  steed  again! 
What  strange  solitude  is  this! 
What  an  aching  loneliness! 
Yonder,  through  the  mist  and  rain. 
Rolls  away  the  midnight  train. 
Leafing,  till  the  peep  of  dawn, 
My  belov'd  companion  on; 
But  my  heart,  along  the  night, 
Follows  f^ver  in  the  flight. 
Fainter  on  the  wet  air  steals 
Rolling  of  the  mighty  wheels; — 
Now  I  hear  them,  now  they're  gone, — 
Through  the  slow  night  moving  on! 


i 


THE  MIDNIGHT  TRAIN. 

Fainter  now  the  warning  cry 
Where  that  panting  steed  draws  nigh 
Some  late  group,  then  rushes  byi 
Still  that  bright  eye  can  not  sleep, 
Flashed  where  sounding  waters  sweep! 
btill  must  rumbling  wheels  resound 
Mid  the  dark  hills  dreaming  round! 
btill  that  shrill-voiced  bugle  blows 
Rousing  night  from  her  repose'      ' 
Still  it  gives  the  world  a  greeting,- 
Tells  of  parting  and  of  meeting; 
Bids  the  lover  to  be  sped; 
Bids  the  living  seek  the  dead! 
Still  it  rouses  chilling  fears, 
Wakens  rapture,  touches  tears 
Bhss  bespeaks,  or  tells  of  pain^ 
Trumpet  of  the  midnight  train! 


43 


I  Si 


n 


HERRICK. 


I. 


THOU  art  a  birth  of  mom.     Yet,  not  the  star- 
Lamp  of  his  throne — so  silent  and  so  far. 

A  mellow  light  leaned  low, 

Where  all  the  hills  could  know; 
Or  the  sweet  home-flame  on  the  hearth 
>.'i''h  wit's  warm  sparkles  still  caressing  earth. 
Thy  most  familiar  muse,  without  disguise, 
Cometh  with  safe  allurement  to  our  eyes; 
Thou  breakest  like  a  sun  through  all  thy  sphere, 
Sounding  a  joyful  clarion  on  the  ear; — 

Singing, — Rejoice!  Rejoice! 

With  a  most  May-glad  voice. 

II. 

England's  Elysian  field — mead  o'  th'  mind. 

With  daisies  plenteous  sown, — 
Where  a  hid  tangle  of  young  brooklets  wind. 
And  all  the  winds  of  Arcady  have  blown: 
In  thee  young  virgins  rove  and  dream — 
Perilla,  Sappho,  Dianeme, — 
And  infants  in  the  dawning  sport  alone. 

44 


HERRICK. 


45 


There  by  the  margents  may  we  walk, 
And  with  olden  poets  talk, 
Plucking  the  flowers  of  fadeless  phantasy, 
Dabbling  our  hands  with  the  dew-dripping  lea — 
The  sunrise  of  our  youth  not  left  behind. 

O  rich  domain! 
Shall  we  not  come  again  and  breathe  in  thee  ? 
Spirit  of  fresh  delight. 
Yield  us  thy  jocund  might! 
Shalt  thou  not  come,  and  o'er  our  hearts  again 
Fall  like  glad  sunshine  and  the  gentle  dropping 
rain? 


W 


III. 

Faint  elmy  tenderness — ethereal  green! 

Soft  phantom-beauty — seen 

On  frilled  and  fluted  tops  in  lofty-lighted  eve! 

Gazing,  our  youth  gleams  on  us  rayed  through  tears. 

So  when  thy  page  appears, 
The  dancing  lights  start  up  the  leaves  between; 
The  subtle  joy  strikes  home,  while  yet  most  ten- 
derly we  grieve. 

Let  the  open  Primrose  shine. 

The  Rose  new-blossom  from  thy  line, 

The  Lily  in  a  crystal  live. 

As  thou  a  fadeless  shrine  may'st  give; 

While  all  life's  glancing  waves  express 

A  sympathetic  cheerfulness. 


I' 


\ 


!    '. 


i\. 


46 


HERRICK. 


IV. 


Yet  who  can  give  the  heart  relief, 

With  all  the  subtle  witchery  of  grief? 

Lo!  while  we  hear  thee  mourn  the  Daffodils, 

Each  thoughtful  pulse  a  sweet  compassion  fills. 

So,  later,  one  along  the  fields  of  Ayr 

Carolled  his  joy  and  chanted  his  despair, — 

Challenged  the  birds  on  every  thorny  tree. 

Now  ever  Sorrow's  wraith  will  croon 

Of  banks  and  braes  by  bonny  Doon; 

'Mid  warbled  rapture,  loitering  slow. 

Will  wounded  Love  walk,  antheming  her  woe; 

While  dreaming  Memory  turns  amain 

To  his  immortal  bliss  and  pain, — 

Thy  brother  bard  and  generous  mate, 

Who  wept  the  Daisy's  kindred  fate; 

Musing,  while  yet  the  wounded  flower  was  fair, 

The  drooping,  the  decay,  the  fading,  soon  to  be. 

V. 

Hesperia's  garden,  full  of  dainty  plots 
Fantastic  set,  and  quaintly  bordered! 

What  golden  fruits  in  thee. 

From  many  a  laden  tree 
Fall  at  our  feet,  as  down  thy  walks  we  tread! 
There  singly  set,  or  in  fraternal  knots. 
The  flowers  we  love  their  olden  perfume  shed; 


HERRICK. 


47 


There  the  fair  Daffodils,  we  weep  for,  grew; 
There  dawn  the  radiant  hours, 
There  drop  the  honeyed  showers, 

There  Oberon's  clialice  holds  its  sip  of  faery  dew. 

VI. 

Wild  blossom- world,  alive  with  minstrelsy! 

Where,  on  smooth-shaven  lawns, 
Caper  light  maiden  feet  in  twinkling  glee: 

Thou  lightest  up  with  immemorial  dawns 
Immortal  May-days,  and  dost  summon  down 

Thy  coy  Corinna  to  o'ertrip  the  lea: 

Jocund,  thou  bid'st  her  to  brief  orisons; 

While  drowses  low  the  bee, 
Dropping  for  sweets  on  many  a  blossomy  crown; 

And  loud  the  lark,  while  free 

Are  all  who  rove  with  thee, — 
The   rose-lipped    maids,   and    gentles  brave  and 
brown. 

VII. 

Fair  is  thy  England,  blossomed  from  the  sea! 

Mighty  her  bards, — but  truer  none  may  be 

To  all  her  ancient  life!     For  Nature  lay 

Thy  heart  unto  her  lips,  whereon  to  play 

A  flute-like  carol  of  bucolic  glee. 

So,  as  thou  comest  near. 

Evermore  we  hear 

Laughter  of  wasteless  brooks  re-echoing  clear: 


\ 


i\ 


\ , 


48 


HERRICK. 


Hopes  bird-like  spring,  and  cloud-white  sorrows  go 
Fleeting  from  shade  to  sunlit  gayety; 
For  thou  art  Joy's  alone,  and  grief  with  thee 
Can  ne'er  continuance  know. 

VII.'. 

Yes,  thou  wast  free 

In  thine  ethereal  realm,  and  Castaly 

Poured  all  its  bubbling  waters  at  thy  feet! 

Yet  earnest  thou  to  Siloa,  to  fulfil 

Thy  rite  on  the  celestial  Muse's  hill: 

Thy  garden  holds  a  shrine  in  sanctity. 

Thy  "Noble  Numbers  "  separate  the  strain 

From  the  fleeting  and  the  vain; 

While  chords, — too  eloquently  few, 

Proclaim  how  still  thy  heart  to  Heaven  was  true. 

There  on  the  altar  see  we  laid 

Sweet-sprinkled  flowers  that  never  fade, 

And,  plucked  from  Paradisic  dell, 

Taintless  snow  of  Asphodel, 

Amaranth,  that  deathless  blows, 

The  crushed  Christ-lily,  and  the  bleeding  Rose. 


IX. 


Fair  is  thy  England — not  less  bloomy-fair! 
But  thou — her  sparkling  soul — art  thou  not  there  ? 
Singing  ^^of  brooks^  of  blossoms,  birds  and  bowers^ 
0/ April,  May,  of  June  and  July  flowers?  " 


rows  go 


HERRrCK. 


49 


S,ng>ng  "of  Maypoles,  hock-carts,  wassails,  wakes 
Ofbr,dcfrrooms,  brides,  and  of  their  hndal-cakes"'' 
Yea,  thoii  remainest  still,_we  hear  thy  voicel     ' 
For  while  we  wait,  thou  bringest  us  anew 
Mirth  s  rich  profusion.  Music's  accent  true. 
And  biddest  not  to  sorrow,  but  rejoice. 
Fair  IS  thy  England,-fair  thy  native  scene! 
Thy  leafy  Devon  still  puts  forth  her  green- 
Pierces  thy  dingles  the  re-echoing  horn:    ' 
Thy  «.ld  Dean-Bourn  sings  of  its  old  renown; 
And,  high  aloft,  o-er  many  a  dale  and  down 
The  lark  is  shouting  in  the  ear  of  morn' 


I 


rue. 


se. 


ere? 
wers, 


tt 


I 


MONTGOMl'Rili'S  MAID. 

\'e  batiks  and  braes;  and  streams  atoutul 
The  Castle  o'  Montgonitrie. 

A  SINGLE  stiaiii — I  turned  to  see 
VVHio  b(jre  that  thrilling  voice: 
Of  all  the  chances  to  a  bard 
This  was  Apollo's  choice! 

In  Love's  green  lodg^     met  her  first— 
The  springtide  wil'         ;ss: 

Like  a  descended  star  the  maid's 
Surpassing  loveliness. 

My  Una  of  the  Scottish  wild — 
My  Highland  Mary — stood 

To  shed  an  angel  light  athwart 
Her  sylvan  neighborhood. 

Not  buxom-warm,  like  Bonnie  Jean, 

Yet  pearly-bright  was  she; 
She  held  my  heart's  keen  passion-fire 

In  awful  chastity. 

50 


AfONTGOM£:/?/E\S  MAID. 

She  was  all  grace  and  shapeliness! 

Her  milk-white  feet  were  bare; 
A  glimmering  aureole  seemed  to  rest 

Upon  her  sliining  hair. 

One  golden  lock  is  all  I  hold 
To  show  she  once  was  mine, — 

That  I  have  clasped  with  trembling  arms 
A  creature  all  divine! 

Pity  and  trust  and  gentleness 

Wer  •  in  her  soft  blue  eyes, 
Tliat,  misted  with  celestial  dew, 

Communed  of  Paradise. 

"^liou  Sa!)bath,  sacred  more  than  all 

The  holy  gifted  span 
That  iiglit  the  tearful  heritage 

Of  toil-encumbered  man! 


51 


Thy  dawn  I  never  can  forget— 

O  day  we  linger  here! 
Sweeter  the  little  birds,  the  blooms 

Tliat  decked  the  opening  year. 

'Twas  in  the  merry  month  of  May; 

The  birk-tree's  tender  green. 
And  clustered  hawthorn's  scented  tlowers, 

Along  the  Ayr  were  seen. 


52 


MONTGOMERIE'S  MAID. 

The  laverock  darted  up  on  high, 

Scattering  his  fiery  notes; 
And  merle  and  mavis  shook  the  songs 

From  their  enamored  throats. 

Montgomerie's  woods  were  softer  green, 
His  banks  more  flowery  gay; 

And  from  the  hft  a  benison 
Seemed  in  each  sunny  ray. 

And  love  was  in  the  scented  sod, 

And  the  far-shining  skies; 
For  love  was  in  the  liquid  deeps 

Of  Highland  Mary's  eyes. 

Down  where  the  covert  streamlet  runs 

We  roved  the  lee-lang  day: 
Blissful  our  dreams, — but  swiftly  spec 

Each  winged  joy  away! 

There,  in  the  dingle's  midmost  deep, 

With  sweetly  serious  look. 
We  tossed  the  dancing  drops  to  light 

From  out  the  singing  brook. 

We  spake  the  awful  name  of  God, 
We  held  the  Heavens  in  view. 

And  vowed  while  crystal  waters  ran 
That  we  would  aye  be  true. 


\ 


MONTGOMERIE^S  MAID. 


f 


53 
God's  Book  we  gave;  our  hands  we  clasped 

Wet  from  the  flowing  stream,  ^     ' 

To  phght  the  high  eternal  troth 

That  earth  may  not  redeem. 

Our  happiest  hours,~our  last,  they  were' 

Then  eve  came  stealing  on  • 
She  vanished  from  my  yearning  gaze 

And  evermore  was  gone. 

Ah,  perfect  form!  ah,  loving  eyes 

That  looked  so  kind  on  me'      ' 
O  robber  Death!  how  could  I  yield 

My  noblest  hope  to  thee  .? 

Thou  art  forever  with  the  Spring 

Thy  day  is  ever  fair: 
But  lonely  rings  our  limpid  Faile  ^ 

That  runs  to  meet  the  Ayr. 

Lonely  my  walk  by  bank  and  brae 

Beneath  the  greenwood  tree  •       ' 
Thy  grave  is  in  the  dinsome  town 

A-near  the  moaning  sea. " 

But  thou,  O  my  leaf-haunting  star' 
Art  set  within  my  soul: 

^Tn^.K^'^J.^^"^  '''^"  ^"^  P°^^»  then, 
in  thy  divme  control! 


'O^ 


)    tf  .^'- 


>f  P->^ 


O -.c. 


54 


MONTGOMERIES  MAID. 


\ 


If  he  shall  fall,  and  sorrow  sore, 

And  feel  the  wound  and  stain, 
Thy  memory,  like  thy  living  smile, 

Shall  make  him  whole  again. 

Who  dowered  thee  with  His  own  pure  love 

Hatli  strung  my  fiery  heart, 
And  sent  me  out  among  His  birds 

To  learn  tlitir  tuneful  art. 


*> 


!i 


% 


\i\ 


\ 


i; 


I  to  His  mandate  have  been  true: 

I  hear  the  years  prolong 
The  praise  of  Scotland's  noblest  name, 

And  Scotlatid's  loftiest  song. 

For  he  who  loves  thee  can  not  die, — 

His  lightest  word  is  fame; 
And  singing  worlds  shall  weep  to  hear 

His  Highland  Mary's  name. 


r 


love 


I  THE  FIRST  BIRD. 

glNGoMu,e,,i.ajro,„U,e  Southland  s,u,,,e„ly 

to  tree  -  """'""■'  """"S  f-'o".  tree 

Sing!  for  r^y  heart  leaps  blithely,  wannlv  to  w.  I 
comefi^^f  •''  ^'**"iJ},io  wel- 


come thee! 


PeopJ^e^^.e  nest-hung  elms,  ye  bright-vvi, 

Swift  speed,   ye  darting  swallows    in   , 

domain  of  blue!  ^''^^''^^^s,    ,n   your    airy 


inged  oriole- 


Sing    on,   little   bird'      For  mfn^ 

weary  for  song!         "^"^^  "^'"^  ^'^^^  ^^^^  grown 
Dumbly  the   winter  enchained 

summer  bel< 


long; 


"le,  but   I   to  th( 


f\ 


55 


56 


THE  FIRST  BIRD, 


And  it  seems,  with  my  heart  a-flutter,  that  I  could 

warble  and  fly, 
When  I  hear  the  first  faint  cuckoo,  or  see  Jack 

Robin  a-nigh! 

Sing  on,  little  bird!    Too  soon  will  the  silence  fall 
Over  the  budding  groves  and  the  pine-hills  tall; 
Then  the  woods  will  blaze  and  blacken,  and  all  be 

bare; — 
Ah,  where  will  he  call  and  carol,  the  soft  and  the 

sunny  air! 

But  O,  sweet  bird !  we  remember  that  ever  thou 

findest  the  spring; 
When  these  uplands  lie  in  silence!   thou  hast  not 

forgotten  to  sing; 
The  evergreen  south  thou  seekest,  when  our  woods 

are  in  gloom. 
And  joyest  to  see  the  magnolia  and  orange  groves 

in  their  bloom. 


Sing  on,  for  your  voice  is  cheery!    I  love  your 

caroling  strain! 
My  heart  would  learn  your  rapture,  and  so  forget 

to  complain; 
With  you  would  I  fly  the  winter, — speed  gleeful 

along, 
To  greet  the  far-off*  forests  with  summer  and  song! 


THE  FIRST  BIRD. 

''"'h::n^'^"^^"^--'''^---nt  captures  Jy 

''°^tv;s„ri"^ '"  '"^  --''-.  -<>-  the 


ri* 


( ( 


OF  A'  THE  AIRTS." 


THERE'S  a  blur  on  the  face  of  the  late  March 
moon ; 
The  wind  pipes  shrill  and  tlie  chimneys  croon; 
Around  my  cottage  it  searching  flies, 
And  every  crack  and  cranny  it  tries; 
From  its  wrestling  might  the  elm  springs  free, 
And  it  wrings  a  wail  from  the  willow  tree. 

But  the  wind  of  March,  as  I  sit  by  the  fire, 

Plays  through  my  heart's  aiolian  lyre, 

And  to  my  listening  muse  it  brings 

The  past  and  the  future  on  its  wings; — 

The  seer  can  see,  and  the  singer  sing, 

When  the  wild  March  evening  pipes  the  Spring. 


And  as  the  firelight  darts  up  clear, 

And  I  see  the  guid  wife  sitting  near, 

A  sweet  auld  sang  through  my  mind  will  go; — 

"Of  a*  the  airts  the  wind  can  blow, 

I  dearly  like  the  wind  o'  tlie  west. 

For  there  lives  the  lassie  I  lo'e  best." 

58 


■' 


VI  arch 


g- 


"OF  A'   THE  AIRTSr 

When  the  daisy  blooms  and  the  thrush  appears, 
One  face  comes  peering  across  the  years; 
'Tis  the  face  of  him  who  toiled  and  sung 
When  Jean  was  absent  and  love  was  young: 
"  I  see  her  in  the  flowers  sae  fair, 
I  hear  her  voice  as  she  charms  the  air." 

Lo!  fancy  quickens!     Behold  him  stand 

Alone  in  the  field  at  EUisland! 

And  all  around  him,  on  every  side, 

The  birds  are  singing  at  Whitsuntide; 

But,  though  woods  are  green  and  skies  are  gay, 

There's  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  is  far  away. 

Then  in  blissful  dreaming  he  moves  along. 
And  he  utters  his  heart  in  a  joyous  song: 
"  Wi'  her  in  the  west  the  wild  woods  grow, 
The  laverocks  sing,  and  the  rivers  row; 
And  though  there's  monie  a  hill  between, 
Ever  my  fancy  is  wi'  my  Jean." 

She  came,  ere  the  winter,  to  ben  and  byre; 
She  lit  on  his  hearth  her  poet's  fire; 
Her  smiles  were  sunshine  upon  the  walls; 
Her  words  dropt  sweet  as  the  streamlet  falls: 
The  lassie  of  song  was  his  wedded  wife. 
The  heart  he  longed  for  was  his  for  life. 

O  fortunate  season,  and  hopeful  time, 
When  the  poet  prosper'd  in  love  and  rhyme  ! 


59 


,1 


6o 


"OF  A'  THE  AIR TS: 


When,  sowing  or  reaping,  the  day  went  by, 
And  he  ploughed  his  fields  and  tented  his  kye; 
And  he  dreamed,  while  the  children  played  round 

his  door, 
That  content  had  come  to  depart  no  more. 

Ah,  faithful  Jean  !  there  were  other  years ! 

For  her  were  sorrows,  for  her  were  tears  ! 

But  the  pansy  weathers  the  wintry  time; 

And  she  kept,  as  she  might,  her  *'  fireside  clime:  " 

Crushing,  her  burden — her  heart  was  stout, 

While  the  lamp  of  her  love,  it  never  went  out !  . 

Ah,  wayward  brother,  and  poet  wild, 

With  shifting  fancy  of  petted  child. 

And  passionate  soul  in  dark  eyes  seen, — 

Thou  well  might'st  cherish  and  prize  thy  Jean  ! 

Some  fleeting  favors  the  few  might  shed; 

She  loved  thee,  living,  she  mourn'd  thee,  dead  ! 

What  lyric  queens  in  thy  heart  might  reign, 
Bemoan'd  with  passion  and  tender  pain  ! — 
She,  of  the  blind  and  the  hopeless  love;   " 
And  Mary,  sainted  in  Heaven  above: 
Weeping,  we  sing  of  the  rose-lip  paled. 
And  the*eyes'  soft  glances,  so  darkly  veiled. 

But  one  there  was, — to  her  memory  peace  I 
She  lies  beside  thee  in  gray  Dumfries, — 


o 


/ 


•  ■•"^ 


L. 


l-i  > 


4,, 


'OF  A'   THE  A  in  TS." 


6i 


ound 


ne 

I 


.  »> 


Who  shared  thy  sorrows,  enlarged  thy  joys, 
Who  cuddled  thy  lassies,  who  reared  thy  boys, 
Who  dropped  o'er  thy  grave  her  quick,  hot  tears, 
And  gave  to  thy  memory  her  widowed  years. 

Then,  when  assemble  the  gay  and  young. 
When  songs  of  the  Scottish  land  are  sung, 
And  before  the  dreamer's  raptured  eye 
The  fair  procession  goes  gliding  by. 
Not  one  of  the  haunted  troop  is  seen, 
Dearer  and  truer  than  Bonnie  Jean. 

And  so,  to-night,  in  my  warm  home-nest. 

While  the  shrill  March  wind  blows  out  of  the  west. 

The  auld  sang  hums  thro'  my  musing  brain. 

Till  I  utter  aloud  the  tender  strain; 

And  the  guid  wife  sings  by  the  firelight's  glow, — 

"Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blow." 


1 1 


^1 


HOME  SONGS. 


I. 


AN  ALIEN'S  MESSAGE. 

I  GIVE  ye  merry  greeting, 
Dear  native  spot  of  earth  ! 
He  yours  the  bowers  of  sweetest  song, 

Of  wildest  springtide  mirth  ! 
A  merry  greeting  to  ye, 

Loved  friends  of  other  years  ! 
I  hail  ye,  madly,  merrily, 
And,  if  your  faces  e'er  I  see, 
I'm  smiling  through  my  tears! 

A  merry,  merry  greeting, 

Dear  brotherhood  of  rhyme  ! 
Your  singing  wakes  the  Mayflower,  now, 

'Neath  maples  budding  prime: 
O  be  ye  Ijlithe  and  cheery  ! 

O  be  ye  ever  free  ! 
Ye  walk  my  youth-time's  haunted  ways. 
And  all  the  scenes  ye  paint  or  praise. 

Are  precious  still  to  me. 

62 


Ho^fE  soycs. 

O  Mayflower-land — my  Country, 

To  thee  my  heart  belongs  ! 
Thou  hast  the  fondest  of  my  thoughts, 

The  sweetest  of  my  songs: 
No  hills  like  thine,  no  valleys 

With  such  serene  repose; 
No  brooks  with  such  a  luring  wile, 
No  woods  whose  walks  can  so  beguile 

As  where  thy  iMayHower  blows.  '^ 

At  morn  my  face  turns  to  thee; 

There  shines  the  risen  sun  ! 
And  eve's  soft  lustre  on  thy  hills 

I  see  when  day  is  done. 
The  wide  world's  weary  pilgrim 

Has  yet  somewhere  a  shrine; 
Though  seldom  he  may  come  to  kneel, 
Its  influence  oft  will  o'er  him  steal, 

While  there  his  thoughts  incline. 

O  Mayflower-land — my  Country, 

Ever,  in  drought  or  dew 
The  constant  heart  it  can  but  love, 

The  loyal  mind  be  true. 
The  child  longs  for  his  mother, 

And  pines  her  face  to  see; 
Sweet  her  remembered  smiles — and  yet 
When  time  has  taught  him  to  forget, 

I  will  remember  thee! 


63 


}' 


♦  ti 


li 


i 


-r 


W9 


r\c 


C    "V%   is 


T^^ 


'A^-, 


.■0(^ 


HOME  SONGS. 

A  merry,  merry  greeting ! 

What  use  to  sing  and  sigh  ? 
Nay,  let  the  laughter  of  old  times 

On  every  wind  float  by  ! 
And,  oh,  dear  vanished  faces, 

And  hearts  forever  true  I 
We'll  wake  again  the  olden  charm. 
And  keep  our  dreams  and  loves  as  warm 

As  when  our  lives  were  new! 

O  Mayflower-land— my  Country  I 

Howe'er  the  eyes  may  see 
That  looked  not  first  upon  thy  hills, 

Thou'rt  only  fair  to  me ! 

And  oft  I  deem,  Acadie, 

A  cot  with  thee  were  blest; 
Then  sweet,  upon  thy  green  hillside. 
High  over  Mina's  heaving  tide, " 

That  everlasting  rest. 


II. 

CHEBUCTO. 

Fair  Cheburto!  ying, 

Like  a  1  in      v^ams, 

On  thy  ha.     joucli    .atUiiinal; — 
Soft  the  sunset   ound  thee  streams; 

Scarlet  woods  thtu  royal  banners 
Hang,  where  bright  thy  bosom     earns. 


"  Br.s'.v,    oi.  Jvi 


I  V)^5 


HOME  SONGS, 

Thou  hast  sons  are  jiroud  to  own  thee; 

Stranger  lip  thy  praise  repeats; 
Honored  spirits  watcli  about  tliee; 

Fame  hath  trodden  in  thy  streets; 
Warrior- wreaths  are  woven  for  tliee; 

Peace  sits  in  thy  rural  seats. 

On  thy  brow  the  Rose  of  Britain 

Blushes  'mid  thy  wavy  hair; 
At  thy  feet  the  pearl-cupped  Mayflower 

Scented  dew  doth  sweetly  bear; 
Sunny-leaved,  thy  oaks  and  maples 

Wave  their  banners  in  the  air. 

Fair  Chebucto,  throned  in  beauty — 

Queenly  bride  of  Acadie! 
Sylvan  slopes — enchanting  woodlands — 

Jeweled  glimpses  of  the  sea — 
Shine  in  memory!   Still  I  love  thee! 

Still  afar,  I  dream  of  thee! 


65 


LESCARBOT. 


III. 

Old  voyager  to  Acadie's  virgin  shore 
The  forest  muse  bade  welcome!     Sunny-souled, 
The  magic  of  thine  eye  turned  all  to  gold, 

Enriching  thy  quaint,  cheerful  fancy's  store. 

Filling  Port  Royal  with  romantic  lore. 


' 


66 


HOME  SONGS. 


After  the  Icngth'ning  sea,  beclouded,  dim, 

The  warm  July  with  joy  thy  heart  did  brim; 
Like  climbing  roses  looked  the  breakers  frore. 
What  odorous  winds,  incomparably  sweet, 

From  wild-woods  bulled  thee,  sailing  gladly  near, 
Till  thou  didst  stretch  thy  hands  forth  to  receive 
The  palpable  gift,— the  smiling  coasts  to  greet, 

Drest  in  the  gayest  garments  that  the  year 
Doth  from  her  bloomy  wardrobe  deign  to  give. 


IV. 


SAILING  SONG. 

The  5ea  is  bright,  the  wind  is  fair. 

The  challenge-wave  slaps  on  the  pier: 
Come!  be  we  blithe  and  debonair, 

To  chase  away  the  hasty  tear! 
Comrades  of  our  brave  days  of  yore, 

Brisk  curls  our  freshening  mother-sea; 
Behind  us  lies  Acadie's  shore. 

And  gallant  sailor-souls  are  we! 

O  still  we  love  our  native  foam, 
We  love  the  reeling  deck  to  tread: 

We've  friends  ashore,  we've  wives  at  home, 
But  we  must  get  the  children's  bread. 


HOME  SONGS. 


67 


near, 
^e 


Heave-yo,  the  anchor!    Lift  the  sail! 

Haste,  brother-sailors,  haste  away! 
List  to  the  music  of  the  gale, 

And  mark  the  bounding  billows'  play! 


V. 


DE  RAZILLIA. 


His  eyes  were  charmed  when,  fresh  from  Ocean's 
plain 

Acadie's  forelands  rose  upon  his  view, 

And  his  bark  skirted  where  the  waters  blue 
Wash  her  green  isles:  then  all  his  heart  was  fain 
To  linger  there  enamored,  and  remain 

In  thy  loved  shelter,  beautiful  La  Have! — 

Yet  one  more  voyage, — its  earthly  port,  the  grave; 
He  sees  no  more  his  native  France  again. 

So  do  glad  eyes  still  greet  thee— deem  thee  fair, 
O  mine  own  country! — wanderers  from  the  sea 
Returning,  to  enrich  thee  with  the  stores 

Of  softer  climes:  so  glad  will  I  repair. 
To  gaze  on  scenes  I  love — to  sing  for  thee — 

To  find  my  rest  upon  thy  peaceful  shores. 


ime, 


I  \'t 


\  Ht 


•^ 


o  -5  ^-sc 


S^ 


ACrf , 


1/  I 


il' 


'I' 


68  HOME  SONGS. 

VI. 

COMING  HOME. 

I  come!   I  cornel    Oh,  land  of  love  and  song! 
Beloved  land,  to  which  I  still  belong, 

I  come!  I  come! 
I  come!    O  open  wide  to  me  your  arms, 
Ye  woods  where  once  I  roamed!    Yours  are  the 
cliarms 

Of  youth  and  home! 
I  come!    Ye  noble  hills  of  soft  ascent, 
O'erlooking  the  tumultous  element, — 

Red  Fundy's  foam. 
Ye  home  of  all  my  earliest  loves  and  dreams, 
Ye  crystal  brooks — ye  fairest  of  all  streams — 

I  come!    I  come! 
Ye  venerable  ones,  who  fondly  bore 
And  nourished  me,  back  to  your  arms  once  more 

I  come!    I  come! 
I  come  to  you,  brothers  and  sisters  dear; 
Though  absent  from  you  many  a  weary  year, 

I  come!    I  come! 
I   come!    Dear   scenes,   dear  faces,   round    me 

throng! 
O  let  the  days  be  cheery  and  be  long! 

I  come!    I  come! 


I 


HOME  SONGS. 


69 


2  the 


nore 


nie 


VII. 

OLD  SAINT  ANDREWS.' 

Return  again,  O  autumn  night 

So  passing  beautiful  to  me, 
With  all  the  glory  of  moonlight 

In  old  Saint  Andrews  by  the  sea! 
Renew  your  charm,  O  wave  and  shore! 

With  romance  fill  each  quiet  street! 
— Were  all  the  hours  we  knew  before 

One  half  so  rare,  one  half  so  sweet! 

O  evening  star!  again  peep  out, 

And  tremble  like  a  drop  of  gold 
Where  ripples,  in  their  slieeny  rout, 

Are  on  the  red  sands  heedless  rolled! 
O  faerie-hush,  fall  on  the  air! 

Ye  far-off  tide,  be  clearly  heard! 
While,  rapt  in  soft  enchantment  there, 

'Twill  break  the  charm.  Love's  simplest  word! 

Dear  wife!  your  hand  in  mine,  what  star 

Melting  down  yon  blue  vault  obscure, 
What  moan  on  yon  portentous  bar 

Could  make  our  hearts  seem  insecure! 
And  if  your  fond  eyes  answered  mine 

With  thoughts  that  must  unspoken  be. 
Ah,  earth  and  air  were  then  divine 

In  old  Saint  Andrews,  by  the  sea! 


'S>.  Si 


ynff")**  -^  s, 


12 


-h^^ 


n  c»i^ 


\.. 


•  i 


I  ■  ; 

f 


I 


70 


HOME  SONGS. 


The  hound's  shrill  barking  we  could  hear 

Behind  the  hill,  in  that  still  hour; 
And,  flashing  o'er  us,  on  the  pier. 

The  light  shone  in  its  friendly  tower; 
The  rill  rolled  down  the  wave  to  greet, 

The  wave  rushed  in  with  silvery  glee; 
And  sight  and  sound,  with  thee,  were  sweet, 

In  old  Saint  Andrews,  by  the  sea! 

But  change  and  chance  have  come  between, 

And  many  a  joy  has  flown  away: 
Yet  smiles  the  moonlit  bay  serene, 

Beneath  the  mild  September  ray; 
And  still  the  scene  is  just  as  fair. 

And  just  as  fair  will  ever  be; — 
For,  dearest,  once  we  wandered  there, 

In  old  Saint  Andrews,  by  the  sea! 


VIII. 

ALL  AT  HOME. 

Cease  from  all  care,  let  woe  and  pain  depart; 
Let  it  be  joy  when  fond  heart  meets  with  heart; 
Peace,  after  turmoil,  rest  from  wandering,  when 
We  all  are  home  agen. 

Speak  not  of  any  absent  whom  we  knew, 
Who  loved  us  well  and  unto  us  were  true; 


\ 


NOME  SONGS.  71 

Speak  not  of  some  far-distant  viewless  shore; — 
We  all  are  here  once  more. 

We  all  are  here; — some  forms  we  can  not  see, 
Yet  clasp  we  close  each  dear  reality; 
For  they  who  other  realms  than  ours  may  roam 
Have  all  with  us  come  home. 

This  seems  our  Father's  house — this  scene  so  fair, 
Though  faith  hath  said  our  Father's  house  is  there: 
Ah,  linger  yet!  be  this  one  blissful  seat, 
Where  we  at  home  may  meet! 

O  gracious  and  congenial  souls!  to-day 
Let  us  put  care  and  sorrow  far  away; 
Be  we  content  once  more,  and  let  delight 
Fill  all  our  dreams  to-night! 


t 


■» 

len 


IX. 

THE  AULD  HAME. 

Scottice. 

Think  ye  o'  the  auld  hame, 

Brither  dear  ? 
O  think  ye  o'  the  auld  hame, 

When  nicht  is  near  ? 
The  sun  frae  the  lift  is  sinkin', 

Let  fa'  a  tear 
For  the  auld  time,  an'  the  auld  hame, 

Brither  dear! 


72 


HOME  SONGS. 

I  wearie  for  the  auld  hame, 

Brither  dear! 
The  auld  folk  i'  th'  auld  hame, 

They  hae  nae  cheer: 
The  west  an'  my  heart  are  burnin', — 

Down  draps  the  tear 
For  the  auld  time,  an'  the  auld  hame, 

Brither  dear! 


* 


j 


I'm  gaein'  tae  the  auld  hame, 

Brither  dear, 
An'  of  a'  i'  the  auld  hame 

I'll  warmly  spier; — 
I'm  gaein'  tae  the  auld  hame, 

Wi'  the  fadin'  year; 
For  there's  nae  folk  like  tlie  auld  folk, 

Brither  dearl 


GASPER  STREAM. 


Sweet  river  of  Gasper,  through  valley  and  plain 

I  see  thy  bright  waters  go  dancing  again! 

Loved    stream  of   my    childhood!    my  youth    ye 

restore. 
As  smiling  I  gaze  on  thy  beauty  once  more! 


*"  ^^  ns  b(>  ^ea'•< 


HOME  SONGS. 


73 


More  lucent  thy  waters  of  azure  and  sheen, 

That  I  look  through  the  haze  of  the  years  that  have 

been; 
But  less  warm  is  thy  beauty, more  pensive  and  lone; 
For  now  we  are  parted,  but  then  we  were  one. 

And  the  friends  of  my  youth  from  thy  margin  have 

gone, 
But  thou  smilest  and  singest,  and  hurriest  on: 
Ah,  my  heart  is  not  light  with  the  gladness  of  yore! 
But,  weeping,  I  gaze  on  thy  beauty  once  more. 


xr. 

"TO  THEE  THE  LOVE  OF  WOMAN 

HATH  GONE  DOWN."       ^pw,:,^? 


am 


th    ye 


O  ocean!  restless,  dark  and  lone. 
What  tribute  dost  thou  crave! 

Thou  hast  our  fairest,  favorite  one, 
The  generous  and  the  brave.  *- 

He  faded  from  the  yearning  shore, 
With  bark  fleet-winged  and  free; 

He  comes  not — nor  deserts  thee  more, 
O  solitary  Sea! 


^1     S^^^     -m'yre  ''^; 


74 


HOME  SONGS. 

The  lily-sails,  in  fair  array, 

Are  on  thy  brink  at  dawn; 
At  eve  men  furl  them  in  the  bay; — 

Say,  whither  has  he  gone  ? 

The  feet  of  sorrow  tread  not  where 
Thy  winds  and  billows  rave; 

No  flower  that  scents  the  summer  air 
May  blossom  on  his  grave: 

But  'neath  thy  waves'  tumultuous  stir, 
And  tempest's  thunder-sweep, 

Low-wrapt  in  weedy  sepulchre, 
He  rests  with  thee,  O  Deep! 

And  she  who  loved  him  looketh  forth. 

Of  heart  and  hope  forlorn: 
His  vanished  loveliness  and  worth 

She  can  not  cease  to  mourn. 

Still  from  her  couch  she  wakes  to  weep, 
And  mournful  looketh  round: 

O  Death!  O  Deep!  and  wilt  thou  keep 
That  jewel  thou  hast  found  ? 

Yet  not  with  thee,  O  mournful  Sea! 

He  dwells,  we  see  no  more; 
But  safe  abides,  from  whelming  tides. 

On  some  diviner  shore. 


HOME  SONGS. 


75 


Xli. 

MOUNT  DESERT. 

For  a  smack  of  the  wave  and  a  breath  of  the 
forest, 
For  the  laugh  of  the  stream  and  the  sheen  of  the 
sea, 
I   turn,   Mountain    Isle,   where  thou  shinest  and 
soarest, 
And  find  the  wild  grandeur  and  beauty  in  thee! 

Break!  break  on  her  cliffs,  ye  white  surges  ol 
ocean! 

Ye  cloudy  piles,  sweep  o'er  her  turrets  of  stone! 
Ah,  how  can  I  stand,  without  awe  or  emotion, 

Where  Nature  has  builded  her  palace  and  throne! 

Thou  tarn  of  the  eagle,  'mid  mountains  uplying, — 
Thou  organ  of  Neptune,  Anemone  Cave, — 

Thou  Mount  of  the  Winds,  where  the  torn  cloud  is 
flying. 
For  me  your  delights  and  austerities  save! 

The  changelings  of  Folly — O  how  can  they  know 
thee! 
Thou  frownest,  encroached  on  by  fopling  and 
flirt; 
But  the  loving  and  wise  shall  their  praises  bestow 
thee. 
And  ring  out  thy  glories,  O  wild  Mount  Desert! 


i 


SONNETS. 


I. 

LUX  ET  UMBRA. 

IN  the  black  flower  of  midnight — at  the  heart 
And  midmost  auricle  of  secrecy, 
There  lies  the  golden  fire-seed  that  shall  be 
The  day's  broad  blossom.     Softly  fall  apart 
The  silken  leaves  of  dreams  ;  and  lo  !  thou  art  I 
Sweet  morn  of  expectation,  dewy-drest ! 
While  all  the  spectres  that  the  dark  infest, 
Soon  as  the  East  doth  his  keen  lances  dart, 
Show  angel  faces.     Why  avert  the  shade — 
The  solemn  vigil — the  mysterious  power. 
Filling  the  soul  with  awe,  stirring  the  clod. 
Bidding  the  bones  to  quake  ?      'Tis  thus  arrayed 
In  dusky  calyx  lies  Heaven's  shining  flower. 
Our  Angel  leads  through  gloom  to  show  us  God, 

76 


EMEKSON. 


77 


t! 


II. 
TO  RALPH  H.  SHAW. 

The  shy  grass  creeps  fortli  from  the  sod  again 
In  timid  doubt  of  the  awakening  sun, 
That  now  his  wintry  course  is  fully  run  ; 
Then,  confident  of  the  soft  April  rain, 
Links  hands  with  sudden  flowers  o'er  all  the  plain. 
Now  brook  and  breeze  and  bird  have  jubilee, 
And  joyance  rings  from  every  new-draped  tree, 
While  every  twinkling  leaf  assists  the  strain. 
Now  is  the  time  for  singing  !    See  !  they  throng, — 
Thrush,  bluebird,  robin,  blackbird,  bobolink  ! 
The  stocks  and  stones  may  hardly  dare  be  dumb. 
If  some  harsh  notes  may  faller  thro'  the  song. 
If  concord's  chain  may  lujld  some  leaden  link, 
What  marvel  ?    Lo  !  a  thousand  poets  come  ! 

III. 
EMERSON. 

Is  nought  amiss  in  this  wide-breathing  world, 
That  thou,  calm  soul,  wand'rest  no  more  abroad 
In  dim  wood-paths  thy  mild  foot  softly  trod  ; 
Looking,  when  sunset's  quivering  valves  were  furl'd 
On  Assabet's  gleamy  bosom  ?     Now,  unpearled, 
Must  thought  sink  down  into  some  tamer  way  ? 
Will  wave  and  wind  have  something  less  to  say. 
Where  the  rich  vines  their  tendrils  green  have  curl'd, 


f' 


t,*! 


» 


I  I 


78 


*'FRANK'INCENSE  AND  MYRRH: 


And  'mid  the  fresh-blown  tresses  of  old  pines? 
Who  shall  the  mystic  legends  longer  give 
Of  cowslip  and  of  violet  ?    Or  who 
Unfold  the  sliy  rhodora  ?    Who  Earth's  shrines 
Uprear  for  poet- worship  ?    Who  shall  live 
Like  thee — so  single,  abstinent,  and  true? 


IV. 

"FRANKINCENSE  AND  MYRRH."  "" 

Thine  rarest  odors,  wafted  from  the  shore 

Of  Song's  green  isle,  the  sweetest  incense  thine, — 

Mixed  spices  burning  on  a  holy  shrine, 

Or  censLT  swung  Love's  temple-gate  before. 

Sacred  the  page  that  doth  thy  thought  restore, 

Tliou  vestal  muse,  charming  the  golden  hours. 

Chanting  melodious  'neath  Chebucto's  bowers  I 

Thine  fond  affection's  tenderest  lyric  lore. 

Thus,  while  each  healing  leaf  I  lingering  press. 

Instant  and  glad  its  fragrancy  it  yields. 

With  youth's  bright  memory,  woman's  gentleness, 

Balm -breathing  from  Acadia's  minty  fields. 

Misty  mine  eyes — mine  inward  vision  clear — 

For  boyhood,  home,  and  native  land,  are  here  ! 


*' 


r^■l''^ 


oi 


vci-v<  -Kvi-e. 


ex 


T  i  i-i*     \\:      C'l-C    I  3  t« 


: 


^''^^-*,    v]^]  «J-  lA.:tz-^'.i  v?    ^fTVwS<r>?,     ->~l  n.'i't^-jjr-,  "A' 


TO  G.  IV.  WICKSTERD. 


79 


ss. 


V. 
TWO  FRIENDS. 

Yes,  my  dear  friend,  beside  the  Merrimack  ; 
And  yes,  my  friend  remote,  whose  music  hails 
From  some  fair  scat  'mid  Pcnnsylvanian  vales  ! 
Ye  both  were  surely  sent  to  lead  us  btick 
To  Truth  and  Nature.     Men  we  do  not  lack 
Apt  to  pursue  the  butterflies  of  art, 
Or  carve  conceits ;  but  ye,  with  throbbing  heart, 
Go  singing  down  your  beamy  morning  track, 
While  Love  and  Memory  bear  ye  company. 
The  vague  and  false  in  art  are  transitory  ; 
Fashions  prevail  and  perish  in  a  day  : 
The  gaudy  bird  or  flower  we  pause  to  see, 
Smit  for  a  moment  with  its  vaunted  glory  ; — 
The  Mayflower  and  the  Robin  please  us  aye. 


VI. 


^  p 


TO  G.  W.  WICKSTEED.^  L, 

WITH   MRS.    SILSBY'S  TRIBUTES  TO  SHAKESPEARE. 

Once  there  were  men,  with  hopes  and  smiles  and 

tears, 
Who  shared  our  bloom,  and  faded, — laying  down 
Their  hearts  unconquer'd  'neath  the  wearying  years. 
Lo  !  they  are  gods  I    Each  wears  a  higher  crown 
Than  Earth  allows,  and  on  each  brow  appears 
Such  luster  as  we  see  on  mountains  fall. 
Theban — Ionian— Roman — Tuscan— rears 
His  awful  front ;  but  Shakespeare  sits  o'er  all. 


\ ,  1 


fi-.a.;3« 


nr. 


8o 


THOMAS  C.  LA  TTO. 


Rt'liold  !  they  come,  his  lauding  worshippers, 
With  incense  ;  his  familiars,  with  their  praise  ! 
The  souls  select, — each  one  his  g;ift  confers, 
And  doth  his  eye-beams  to  his  sovereii^n  raise  ; — 
Great  Ben,  strong  Milton,  Dryden — each  concurs 
With  many  a  songful  soul  in  later  days. 


» 

Is 


VII. 

THOMAS  C.  LATTO. 

A   SCOTTISH    POF/r. 

To  that  high  realm  of  harmony  and  light 

Entered,  no  more  our  poet  pensive  waits, 

"  A  patient  Mordecai  at  Phiuhus'  gates," 

With  lingering  suit  of  song,  in  exile  plight. 

Gone  !  and  with  hiui  it  is  no  longer  night, 

Nor  is  it  longer  sighing,  now,  Init  song  ! 

At  evening  to  his  chamber  comes  a  throng 

Who  seek  of  his  pale  face  the  latest  sight. 

My  heart  is  there  :     I  see  them  gathered  roiad  : 

Low  breathes  the  hymn,  low  sounds  the  funeral 

prayer : 
His  lilied  casket  charms  the  soul  with  rest. 
What  tribute  more  ?     What  action  may  be  found 
Of  j)crfect  praise?     A  Scottish  bard  is  there 
To  lay  the  heather  on  his  silent  bre.ist.  * 


'-■[C    —  >ca  or 


■^-1 
V"^^' 


>('« 


JEAN. 


8i 


»e  ! 

se ; — 
ncurs 


.id: 

funeral 


uul 


VI 11. 

SERVICE. 

ADDKKSSEI)    TO    JOHN    I).     KOSS,    HKOOKLYN,    N.   V. 

Thp:y  were  not  born  in  vain  who  live  to  bless 

And  solace  others  ;  who,  while  some  may  strive 

Out  of  the  spoils  of  men  to  g  ovv  and  thrive, 

Abjure  the  meed  of  wrong  and  selfishness. 

Nor  dotii  he  live  in  vain  who  niaketh  less 

The  sum  of  human  sorrow  ;  who  inspires 

Hope  in  the  breast,  and  kindles  love's  sweet  fires  ; 

Whose  charity  relieves  a  friend's  distress. 

Long  may  he  live,  to  whom  is  ever  dear 

A  brother's  fame  ;  whose  eye  can  recognize, 

Whose  pen  proclaim,  the  merit  that  he  sees  ; 

Who  with  his  books  and  friends  h.olds  gentle  cheer  ; 

And  whom  a  poet's  son,  or  ma \im  wise 

Can  never  fail  to  interest  and  please. 

IX. 

JEAN. 

As  one  who  doth  the  skiey  realm  survey — 

Hailing,  in  radiant  constancy  afar 

In  night's  blue  tower,  the  sailor-guiding  star — 

Is  gladdened  by  Selena's  silver  ray, 

Ris'n  o'er  her  hi!l  upon  some  ripply  bay  ; 

So  he,  whose  wondrous  eyes  were  watching  still 

Where  tnaiden  spells  his  fiery  soul  might  fill 

With  passion  to  inspire  some  living  lay  ; — 


»D.  '  / 1  n  <r 


ct 


I- .  1. 


■bh 


82 


LESSONS  FROM  LILIES. 


(For  his  the  deeply-mused,  the  perfect  song 
Of  sorrow  o'er  his  Mary's  early  tomb  ; 
His,  ( hanting  Ballochmyle  at  dewy  e'en  ; 
Maria's  call  tiie  twiliglit  woods  among  ; 
Jessie  and  Nannie  in  tlieir  sweetest  bloom;) 
Found  yet  his  brightest  cheer  in  Bonnie  Jean. 


LESSONS  FROM  LILIES. 

What  gospel,  O  ye  lilies  of  the  field! 

Preach  ye  to  souls  devout?     What  meanings  lie 

Writ  in  the  trustful  violet's  open  eye? 

"Dear  Sun,"   they  say,  thou   art  our  Lamp,  our 

Shield, 
Our  chcrisher,  to  whom  our  sweets  we  yield  ; 
The  v.eaver  of  our  robes  of  various  dye  ! 
Til'  maternal  sod  doth  nourish  us,  conceal'd 
'Mid  its  warm  grasses  ; — we  need  never  fear, 
Nor  lack,  nor  hunger  :  we  are  uiuHsmay'd, 
Patient,  encouraged  tliat  our  God  is  near. 
Why. need  we  dread  the  frost  th;it  makes  leaves 

sere  ? 
O  troubled  lingerer  in  ihe  peaceful  glade  ! 
We  have  th'  o'erbrooding  Love,  to  work  us  cheer  ; 
We  have  Omnipotence  to  be  our  aid. 


• .) 


CKIEPS  riKST  IIOIRS. 


83 


, 


XI. 


GRIEF'S  FIRST  HOURS. 


;s  lie 
p,  our 


And,  oh,  no  more  !  no  more  !  my  heart  hath  sighed; 
For  in  my  soul  tlie  doleful  \vei}2:ht  hath  lain  ; 
And  I  have  felt  the  passion  and  the  pain 
Of  parting;  hence  inexorably  denied 
My  life  of  life  !    Joy's  tendrils  all  divide, 
And  Hope  is  slain  !    Ah  !  can  they  live  again  ? 
More  than  this  precious  form  ^  not  retain, 
That  hastes  away  in  darkness  to  abide  ! 
Well  might  it  seem  their  tears  were  blood,  or  dun 
As  their  sad  thoughts'  complexion,  who  behold, 
Under  the  sun's  complacent,  mocking  ray, 
Withdrawn,  the  smile  more  welcome  than  llie  sun  ; 
Dimmed,  the  fond  eye,  broken,  the  heart  of  gold, 
Palsied,  the  hand  that  wiped  our  tears  away  ! 


f ' 


eaves 


Iheer  ; 


xri. 

Could  I  have  known  the  measure  of  the  days 
By  that  Just  Will  allotted  to  us  here.— 
How  brief  tlie  journey  gladden'd  by  thy  cheer, 
By  tender  dalliance,  and  fond  delays  ; — 
How  had  I  bid  my  sun  of  love  with  rays 
More  sweet  to  fall  about  thee  !  liow  be<.n  near 
More  oft  to  chide  the  softly  falling  tear. 
And  soothe  misgiving  with  a  lover's  praise  ! 


ill 


«>  h ' 


84 


GRIEFS  FIRST  IIOCRS. 


How  tremulously  o'er  thy  steps  had  I, 
As  thine  own  anji^el,  liover'd,  had  I  thought 
Thou  could 'st  so  swiftly  vanish  from  the  way  ! 
But,  ah  !  I  had  not  dreamed  that  f/iou  could'st  die  ! 
That  this  so  soon  must  be  my  lonely  lot, 
Without  tiiy  needful  presence  night  and  day  ! 

XIII. 

My  love  !  my  love  !  "wv  ^{/^''>^  ^V.s7  ornament, 
By  wlioin  my  spirit  out  of  dust  ivas  rdtsrd;''''    > 
My  jewel  of  the  dark  !     Now  Heaven  be  jiraised, 
P>y  whom  thy  shining  goodliness  way  sent ! 
My  lode-star,  for  a  little  season  lent, 
And  then  withdrawn  into  tliy  guardian  sky  ; 
Shed  thy  ripe  influence  on  me  silently, — 
Sweet  minister,  with  such  benign  intent ! 
That  love  I  spake  not,  and  that  faith  I  meant, 
I  feel  thou  knowest,  wheresoe'er  thou  art ! 
The  undivided  homage  of  a  heart, 
Whose  days  confined  in  solitude  are  spent. 
Is  thine— thine  only  !     Still  my  life  is  blent 
With  thine,  who  art  its  fairest  ornament. 


'       ^  d  'vyj  M,  vi  ^\ 


5? 


P  Pvi  S-Pi- 


I 


l^ACATIOX. 


85 


XIV. 


I  lift  my  heart  to  that  blest  altitude 
Where  thou  dost  move  on  s:racious  errands  bent  — 
Fainting  no  more  'neath  that  calm  firmament 
O'er  which  th'  Eternal  Lioht  doth  sweetly  bn.ud  • 
For,  as  thy  Lord,  thou  still  wert  doing  good,— 
Thy  human  span  in  precious  d^^d  was  spent. 
Ah,  there  are  hearts  to  mourn  thee,  ill  content 
They  can.but  weep  thy  lost  beatitude  ! 
Yet.  stoop  once  more,  O  Sacred  Soul  !  to  mine 
So  blissful  wedded  !     Brood  o'er  mv  low  path 
All  tearful,  dusk  I-ease  thou  this  painful  lac  k'' 
Shall  the  dread  night  shrink  where  thy  lioht  may 
shine  ? 

The  mirkest  mid-hour  no  vain  terror  hath, 
If  thy  celestial  beauty  brighten  back  ! 


. 


XV. 

VACATIOX." 

Home  !  when  the  cycle  of  our  toil  is  o'er  ; 
When  we  have  sown  and  reaped  the  tearful  seed, 
Then  bid  the  laborer  release,  then  speed 
His  longing  spirit  toward  his  native  shore. 
Home  !  height  serene,  belov'd  forevernioie 
Above  all  star-borne  summits  sliining  free  ! 
Home  !  isle  unvex'd,  beyond  a  suns(  t  sea 
Toward  which  yon  silver'd  sail's  enchantment  bore  ' 


tX 

'^  \ 


$<  r 


tii 


d6 


h'ULFH.MENT. 


If  I  could  reach  thee  in  thy  far-off  realm, 
And  find  thee,  with  the  group  so  radiant  fair, 
Of  friends  and  fancies,  that  adorned  my  youth, 
I  should  not  fear  the  waves  that  overwhelm 
The  voyager, — eager  to  be  once  more  there, 
Pitching  o'er  glancing  seas  a  snowy  booth. 


XVI. 

FULFILMENT. 

Life's  fever  cooled  in  Death's  refluent  wave, — 
When  on  our  fainting  brows  no  more  shall  beat 
Distemper'd  suns  ;  our  travel-weary  feet 
No  longer  wander  o'er  Time's  burning  pave, 
Unsandal'd  ; — this  !  ev'n  this,  we  fain  would  have  ! 
If,  (the  long  thirst  appeased  in  that  soft  tide, 
The  yearning  still'd),  we  come  up  satisfied, 
That  this  washail'd  as  Death,  or  that,  the  Gra^-e, 
We  may  not  care.      Then  ceases  Earth's  lament, 
'Mid  rapt  throngs,  jubilant-throated,  attiie  pitcii 
Of  their  eternal  song.     In  calm  content 
We  enter  Love's  abode,  securely  rich. 
To  join  her  glad-eyed  children  purely  bent  ; 
Where  frustrate  hopes  have  to  fruition  come. 
And  our  divine  Ideal  is  at  home. 


RAIX, 


s? 


have  ! 


XVII. 

FROST-WORK. 

Chill  was  the  nij^ht :  vvitli  wannest  smile  the  morn 
Looks  forth,  white-veil'd.     W  hat  charm  from  mitl- 

night  drear 
Hatli  the  earth  reft,  and  o'er  chaste  features  worn  ? 
Now,  while  the  tardy  sun  his  face  doth  clear, 
Behold  !  what  ma/e  of  Fairydom  is  here  ! 
There's  not  an  elm  that  springs  its  shaft  aloof 
But  gives  of  Winter's  stateliest  beauty  proof  ! 
The  trees  as  branching  corals  all  appear  ! 
I  stand,  with  eye  attent,  and  wistful  ear. 
Where  Silence  lays  her  fingers  ;  as  if  soon 
Quaint  bugles  blown  from  I'lfin-land  to  hear  ! 
But,  lo!  the  magic  scatters  — the  pure  boon 
Is  quickly  gone  !     Fach  tall  tree's  powdery  crown 
Does  'mid  th'  applausive  stillness  tremble  dowii  ! 

XVIII. 

RAIN, 

HEARD   AT    EARLY    MORNING. 

Awakening  at  the  early  davvn,  I  hear 
The  liquid  tramp  and  footfall  of  the  rain, — 
The  flooded  sj^out  outside  my  window-pane. 
Gushing  and  gurgling  on  my  cjuiet  ear  : 
Chiming,  descend  from  clouds,  low-hovering,  clear 
And  lute-like  measures  ;  while  the  fevered  earth. 
After  the  dust  and  di\  uth  makes  genial  mirth — 
Beats  her  deep  anthem,  multiplies  her  cheer. 


I 


y.^'i- 


m 


11 

IBI 

Mw\  ' 

ii. ' 

lit 

11 

li- 

88 


MONTCALM. 


The  wide  rejoicing^  fields  their  frolic  sun 

Shall  St  on  give  sparkling  gre(.'liiig,  for  the  charm 

To  each  green  spire,  each  Inid  and  l)ell,  abounds. 

lilven  now  the  piping  robins  have  i)  -gun  : 

Mullled  by  distance,  at  the  wakening  farm 

The  welcome  clarion  of  the  cock  resounds. 


XIX. 

MONICALM. 

In  thy  brave  beauty  on  yon  storied  height 
Methinks  I  see  thee  move  !     The  battle  storm 
Rages  around  ;  but  thy  heroic  form 
Towers  aloft,  sublime  in  warrior-might, 
Raying  the  grace  of  some  superior  light 
On  Death's  dreatl  front — the  hour  of  dark  defeat. 
Erect  in  selle  thou  hold'st  thy  painful  seat, 
Bleeding  ;  yet  mortal  ill  can  not  affright 
Thy  well-pois'd  soul,  nor  shake  thy  nobleness. 
Ah,  hadst  thou  sovereign  worthy  sue  h  as  thou, 
With  knightly  S})irits  to  surround  his  throne, 
Might  Victory  walk  this  field  in  Gallic  dress  ; 
Then  France — these  nortliern  lilies  on  her  brow 
Tnpluck'd — might  reign  supreme,  calling  Quebec 
her  own. 


harm 
loutuls. 


m 


k'fcat. 


Iss. 


row 

»iK'l)ec 


IVOLFJL 


XX. 


89 


SAINT  HYMl^.LIN. 


Low  in  liis  convt-iit  cell  where  Heaven  attends, 

Gaunt,  on  his  pallet  ^ood  Saint  Hymelin  lies  : 

To  an  unclouded  bourn  the  sun  descends  ; 

Hut  holier  splendors  brighten  in  his  ej  es. 

On  dying:  arm  he  vainly  strives  to  rise  : 

— Hark  !  for  110  ecirthly  hand  is  on  the  belh  ! 

They  ring!  they  ring!  meanwhile  he  sinks  and  dies; — 

They  ring  triumphal  peals,  not  funeral  knells  ! 

O  there  are  marvelous  welcomes,  all  undreamed, 

When   lonely  souls    that  grow   through   suffering 

strong,— 
The  world's  redeemers,  and  themselves  redeemed, 
Who  conciuer  sorrow  with  a  lofty  song, — 
Come  up,  where  harps  and  crowns  from  hands  of 

dust 
Fall  not,  all  perishing,  as  here  they  must ! 

XXI. 

WOLin-. 

The  paths  of  i^Iory  lead  but  to  the  gra7<e.     .     .     . 
Thrilled  low  the  voice,  in  awed,  in  rapt  deli.L'lit, 
Of  him  who  drew  toward  Stadacona's  height, 
And  calmly  rode  the  slow  reluctant  wave. 
Saint  Lawrence  soft  his  ripply  prow  did  lave, 
Songful  consenting  ;  while  the  falling  eve 
Did  with  its  august  pastoral  musing  grieve 
O'er  those  who  die — the  timorous  and  the  brave. 


90 


U'OLIE. 


Hark,  to  our  liero  wan, — his  pensive  brow 
Ripe  for  red  laurels,  waiting  but  the  day, — 
Who  sighs  for  honors  of  the  cloistered  bard  !  "^ 
Are  peace  and  song  the  best?  .  .  .  Yet  must  we  bow 
To  Fate's  decree  .  .  .  Thou,  soul  victorious,  say ! 
Fame,  and  our  tears,— are  these  no  fit  reward? 

XXII. 

Yet  would,  sweet  song,  sweet  love,  ye  had  been 

mine  ! 
O  friends,  in  that  dear  English  land  that  I 
May  see  no  more  !     O  streams,  we  wandered  by. 
Careless  companions  in  a  dream  divine  ! 
Than  on  yon  steep  in  arms  supreme  to  shine 
With  you  to  walk  were  soother  .  .  .  Fancy  vain  ! 
Can  we  our  path  reverse,  or  choose  again  ? 
The  Ansede-Foulon'^ — the  embattled  line — 
The  lofty  plain,  red-reeking — the  wild  call 
And  cry  of  battle — the  obstreperous  roar 
Of  the  dread  onset, — passion,  pain  and  pride  ! 
There  lies  thy  ivay  !    For  thee,  the  stinging  ball — 
The  fiir,  faint  cheer  from  earth's  receding  shore!  .  .  . 
— The  columned  stone:    Here  Wolfe  Victori- 
ous Died. 


*Tlie  path  by  which  his  army  ascended. 


i.  w'U 


■^,    ,y  ^gr-Di-e^^!:.  jvi 


o  • 


•11  S        T  f  »i    ,17-  -^ 


.  d      n  ;  -J 


16  ;.t  Bvi  r.^t^       r-\.\^Y    y^llol■r^<>      t.Cl'^*-!->- 


■!=-   e  «^.  "M 


^f}■  ri.ACE. 


91 


d!  ^ 
t  we  bow 

IS,  say ! 


had  been 


:red  by, 

line 
J  vain ! 

.1 

[ide ! 

ng  ball — 
bore!  .  .  . 

ICTORI- 


XXIII. 

DAULAC. 

Back  throuyli  liis  leafy  ranj^e,  gliding::  alt)()f 
From  tree  to  tree,  daunted  from  Daulac's  ra^e, 
Slinks  the  awed  savage  ;  nor  would  dare  engage 
A  battle  temper  of  such  matchless  proof. 
If  here  alone,  under  the  verdant  roof, 
Or  the  "blue  sky,  this  dauntless  hero  band 
Could  smite  them  so — trampling  them,  every  hand, 
Like  mice  beneath  Hehemoth's  mighty  hoof, — 
They  go  no  farther !    The  wild  i)lood  runs  ciiill ; 
The  vengeful  savage  for  an  hour  is  tame. 
But,  ah  !  why  come  thty  not  ?     When  siiall  we  see 
Our  heroes?     Nevermore!     Their  hearts  are  still  ! 
Yet  their  brave  deed  shall  be  a  light,  a  name, 
An  incense  in  thy  streets,  O  V'ille  Marie  ! 

XXIV. 

MY  PLACE. 

TO    MV    IJROTHER.*' 

If  in  the  royal  kingdom  of  thy  thought, 
(Where  dwell  the  eminences  and  degrees, 
Where  stately  words,  in  brilliant  embassies, 
With  rich  attire  move  on  ;  to  which  are  brought 
The  wealth  of  realms  where  dark  and  dim  are  not. 
From  which  the  foul  and  indistinct  depart ; 
And  where  the  smiling  genii  of  the  heart 
Draw  fairy  circles — haunt  each  secret  spot — 


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92 


THE  DESERT  ISLE. 


And  on  Hope's  hill-top  every  gala-night 
Kindle  their  sprightly  beacons,  twinkling  high) ; 
I  may  have  privilege  and  friendly  grace  ; 
Then  let  it  be  where  fire-lit  walls  are  bright, 
On  autumn  eves  ; — a  chirping  cricket  nigh, 
While  pensive  silence  broods  about  the  place. 


XXV. 


THE  DESERT  ISLE. 


How  changed  the  scene  !  where  tliis  majestic  isle, 

Fondled  of  ocean,  greets  th'  presiding  sky. 

With  rude  sea-wall,  and  mountain  dome  on  high, 

And  turrets  as  of  some  cathedral  pile. 

Lit  up  by  sun  and  sea,  and  summer's  smile  ; 

Since  first  it  won  Champlain's  adventurous  eye, 

Or  Argall's  murderous  caraval  drew  nigh  "* 

This  bloodless  woodland  Eden  to  defile. 

Here,  where  are  reared  the  homes  of  Wealth  and 

Pride, 
Where  Fashion  leads  abroad  her  glittering  train, 
And  Care  seeks  solace  of  the  summer  seas, 
The  Jesuit  Fathers  came  at  eventide. 
Waking  these  wilds  with  prayer  and  chanted  strain, 
Charmed  by  the  waves'  perpetual  litanies. 


i>'^IV)i';j 


Cc) 


';» 


K, 


ICICLE  DROPS. 


93 


0; 


ic  isle, 
igh, 

ye. 

h  and 
in, 

>train. 


XXVI. 

ICICLE  DROPS. 

Fast,  from  their  ribbed  inverted  icy  spire, 

Yon  shining  minims,  glittering  in  the  snn. 

Fall  brightly  down, — sheen  drops  of  fluent  fire  ; 

Momently  hanging — sinking,  one  by  one, — 

Sliding,  as  clear  beads  down  a  silver  wire  : 

So  archer-stars  shoot  the  abysses  dun  ; 

So  blood  drips  down  from  the  knives'  fierce  desire  ; 

So  fall  our  moments  ;  so  our  tears  do  run. 

With  drop  on  drop,  with  everlasting  flow, 

With  changing  atom  and  revolving  spliere, 

Our  never-resting  lives  must  downward  go  ; — 

Still  hung  in  momentary  brightness  here  ; 

Then  sinking  to  that  breast  toward  which  incline 

The  drops  that  glow,  and  eke  the  beams  that  shine. 

xxvii. 

The  sun,  at  length,  with  a  more  fervent  fire. 
Hath  gained  a  subtle  mastery  of  the  dawn  ; 
And,  still  more  swiftly,  from  the  less'ning  spire 
The  hastening  gems  descend,  till  all  are  gone. 
But,  lo  !  they  come  !    The  vanish' d  ones  surprise, 
In  golden  mist,  my  wistful,  musing  siglit ! 
Soul  o'  th'  earth, — its  exhalations  rise. 
And  soon  the  drops  return  to  air  and  light. 


^:^ 


' 


94 


SOLITUDE. 


There  shall  they  hang  'mid  purple  glooms  aloof, 
With  clouds  noon-white,  or  tinct  with  crimson  eve ; 
Or  shine  supreme  in  Iris'  circling  woof. 
Wherein  his  married  hues  the  sun  doth  weave. 
And  so  this  falling  life  shall  not  remain 
Sunk  in  the  earth  ;  'twill  rise  to  Heaven  again. 


XXVIII. 

SOLITUDE. 

Make  ye  a  solitude? — Cool  mountain  airs 
That  round  my  bleached  cheeks  come  softly  play- 
ing I 
Bush,  bough  and  twig,  anew  your  charms  arraying 

In  delicatest  green  the  woodland  bears  ; 
Ye  happy  things  that  wing  away  my  cares, — 
Gilt  butterflies,  from  shade  to  sunshine  straying ; 
Ye  springing   brooks  that  down  the  rocks  come 

spraying 
Each  mossy  vest  their  flinty  bosom  wears  ; 
Ye  maze  of  fern  and  flower,  of  leaves  a-whisper  ; 
Ye  plumed  souls,  from  matin  until  vesper. 
That  make  a  temple  of  each  spreading  tree  ; 
Ye    woodland    lawns,    with    circles    grass-grown 

newly ; — 
Make  ye  a  solitude  ? — Ye  answer  truly : 
**  Nay,  we  are  sweeteners  of  society." 


1', 


I 

)me 


>wn 


AT  THE  LIGHT. 

YES  !  this  is  my  shore  of  dreaming, 
And  this  is  my  haunted  main  ! 
The  chant  of  the  syren-ocean 
Is  in  my  ears  again. 

I  have  threaded  the  rugged  pathway, 

The  furzy  track  of  old  : 
Lo  !  the  morning  sea  rejoices 

In  purple  and  in  gold. 

'Tis  the  laughing,  sheeny  vision, 
As  it  was  since  time  began  ! 

There,  faery-blue  in  the  distance 
The  cliffs  of  Grand  Manan. 

The  salt  wave  frets  and  cringes, 
And  leaps  on  the  ledges  still ; 

Not  all  the  years  since  I  left  them 
Have  broken  their  tameless  will. 

The  sea's  soft  jubilation, 
The  smile  of  the  tender  skies. 

Will  set  the  heart  a-roving 
In  youth's  lost  paradise. 

95 


n 


1/J»sl    CsJxocId>  ,    >>ear 


Vo'Ajf^  (Me. 


VBm 


96  AT  THE  LIGHT. 

Below,  the  shining  ripples 
To  the  curving  sands  are  sped  ; 

And  the  parti-painted  lighthouse 
Stands  on  the  rocky  head. 

How  oft,  in  the  far-off  evenings 

To  musing  memory  dear, 
Have  I  come  from  yon  hillside  village, 

To  dream  and  wander  here  ! 

Tracing  the  fire-writ  records 
On  broken,  wave-wash'd  wall, 

Wliere,  liiro'  the  sea's  long  anthem 
Pierces  the  sea-bird's  call. 

And,  when  the  lamp  was  lighted, 
From  the  tower  I've  looked  below. 

And  mark'd  where  the  white  surf  glimmers, 
And  the  spectral  vessels  go. 

The  lonely  sea  was  darkling, 
Where  the  shadows  distant  fall  ; 

But  the  lamp  in  the  tower  burn'd  brightly, 
And  a  hush  was  over  all. 

God  spake  in  the  soft  night  silence. 
And  the  mellow  swish  of  the  sea, 

'Till  a  sense  of  exaltation 
And  of  sweet  serenity. 


A  T  THE  LIGHT. 


97 


lers, 


Like  a  holy  spell  possessed  nie  ; 

And  it  seemed  the  world's  affray 
With  its  sound  was  gone  forever, 

Forgotten  and  far  away. 

How  in  the  press  and  bustle, 
With  the  care  that  perplexes  nie, 

I  have  dreamed  of  thy  isolation 
Thou  light-tower  by  the  sea  ! 

Of  the  midni^^ht  storm's  commotion, 

Of  the  quiet  noon-day  rest, 
Of  the  wave-lapt  dream  in  tlie  lighthouse, 

When  I  was  an  evening  guest ;  " 

Of  the  sight  of  old  friendly  faces, 
And  the  taste  of  homely  cheer  !  .  .  .  . 

Ah!  the  din  of  the  world  is  behind  me. 
And  I  am  glad  to  be  here  ! 


H 


4 


'^C    C:?^fc   i'; 


AV,, 


':i 


-w^-fte  -oarcslio-vic '-%     -''*    ^ 


Ui-4 


SIR  ADAMS  ARCHIBALD. 

SNAI'T,  the  gold  chain,— dropt,  the  last  shining 
link 
That  bound  us  to  our  Country's  glorious  past ! 
Bare  we  our  brows  to  look  upon  the  mound 
Where  so  much  honor  lies.    Without  a  blush, 
Unhesitant,  let  Fame  his  praise  repeat, — 
Last  of  a  memorable  company. 
Be  this  his  praise — he  loved  Acadia  well, 
And  well  he  served  her.     Then  his  sun  set  clear, 
That  purely  rode  in  the  mid-heaven  of  life, 
With  forecast  of  the  everlasting  rest — 
The  sacred  meed  that  waits  on  duty  done. 

We  walk  'mid  changes  manifold,  and  see 
The  rising  of  the  new  from  out  the  old. 
The  fathers  are  but  shadows  ;  yet  their  heads 
Do  gather  haloes,  and,  serenely  sure, 
As  stars  o'erlooking  the  autumnal  leaves 
That  drop  or  whirl  away,  their  works  remain, 
And  from  their  silent  urns  they  rule  us  still. 

But  in  Acadia's  annals, — many-leaved 
At  last,  with  increment  of  years  to  be, — 
Howe'er  the  pages  may  be  written  o'er 

98 


J^  weTl-lcri 


t  shining 

ist! 
i 


t  clear, 


S//e  ADAMS  ARCHIBALD, 


99 


Than  tT'  "''  ""^"^^ '°  "'«  co„.mo„  li^t  • 
Than  those  once  writ  with  Archibald "nd  Howe. 


Is 


>, 


! 


I 


I 


THE  kearsargp:. 

GIRT  by  desert  seas  .md  skies, 
On  the  southern  reef  she  lies, 
To  the  elements  a  prize, 

Cleansed  with  surf,  of  battle-^ore  : 
Leave  her  there,  nor  seek  to  save 
l''roni  her  wild,  inglorious  grave 
This  old  tamer  of  the  wave, 
Lost  on  lonely  Roncador! 

Bright  with  fame— what  can  eclipse ! 
Foremost  among  battle-ships  ; 
Once  her  caimon's  blazing  lips 

Woke  the  echoes  with  their  roar  : 
VV^ith  her  colors  flying  free, 
Held  she  empire  o'er  the  sea  ; 
— Where  tiie  surf  beats  sullenly 

Lies  she  now,  on  Roncador. 

Churned  to  foam,  the  breakers  fleet 
O'er  the  yellow  shingle  meet, 
And  a  monody  repeat, 
F'ull  of  ocean's  saddest  lore  : 


lOO 


THE  KEARSARCE. 

Ghostly  heroes  mount  her  side, 
Who  ill  storm  of  battle  died  ;— ' 
Heaves  she  with  the  swelling  tide, 
On  the  lonely  Roncador. 

Go  not  forth  to  bring  htr  home  ; 
Tame  her  not-she  loved  to  roam  ! 
Ciive  her  to  the  reef  and  foam  ! 

Let  the  sea-birds  round  her  soar, 
Let  them  o'er  her  sweep  and  cry  ! ' 
Underneath  an  alien  sky 
Leave  her  evermore  to  lie, 

In  her  grave  at  Roncador  \ 


loi 


rHE  HUNTER. 


THE  luinler,  ho  !  rljjht  cheerily 
He  ridcth,  he  ridelli ! 
How  Uke  a  bird  iiis  hetirt  is  free, 

As  swift  ho  rideth  : 
With  click  of  hoof,  and  blast  of  horn, 
He  whips  the  wind  in  merry  scorn; 
For  t|uany,  with  the  peep  of  morn, 
He  rideth,  he  rideth! 

The  hunter,  ho !  right  wearily 

He  rideth,  he  rideth  ! 
Half  of  the  ruddy  sun  to  see, 

He  slowly  rideth: 
Soft  to  his  cheek  the  eveninj;  breeze, 
And  sweet  the  sunset  thro'  the  trees  ;- 
To-morrow  he  shall  rest  at  ease  : 

He  rideth,  he  rideth! 

The  hunter,  ho  !  full  dreamily 

He  rideth,  he  rideth  ! 
So  hearty  was  the  morning's  glee. 

So  faint  he  rideth  : 


I02 


Tm-mxTEK. 

AnV",*"'.'"''^^  "•«  drean,.bir<ls  ron.e 
And  star-,lew  from  the  crjstal  dome 

He  rideth,  lie  ridetli ! 


J03 


PRO  MEMORIA. 


AN    ELEGY  ON   SIR   JOHN  THOMPSON. 


A  SOUND  of  lamentation  in  the  North, 
Of  weeping,  and  the  voice  that  calls  :   Come 
home  ! 
Come  to  the  waiting  land  that  sent  thee  forth  ; 

Linger  no  more,  no  farther  seek  to  roam  : 
With  royal  escort,  shrined  in  war-like  walls. 
Mount  the  blue  wave  and   h.asten  through  the 
foam  ; — 
Come,  O  my  son  !  it  is  thy  Country  calls  ! 

The  throbbing  wire  hath  sped 
Under  the  sea  its  message  :     Thou  art  dead ! 
The  lonely-whispering  genii  of  the  deep 
Have  spoken  with  us,  and  we  weep: 

They  tell  us  thou  hast  met  the  summoner — 
The  mighty  messenger  we  vainly  dread  ; 
That  melancholy  pomp,  and  gorgeous  woe. 

And  splendor  of  the  halls  where  kings  confer, 
Wait  round  thee,  where  thy  stately  head  lies  low. 

104 


PRO  MEAfORlA. 


105 


Come  back  to  us,  o'er  the  impetuous  main  ! 

Come,  to  the  land  helov'd,  that  loves  thee  well ! 
Come,  to  the  land  thou  didst  not  love  in  vain, 

Whose  grieving;  sons  thy  deeds  and  honors  tell  ! 
O  modest  heart,  so  chastened  by  thy  pain, — 

Shrinking;  before  the  throne  from  glory's  spell, — 
Though  chill  and  silent,  come  to  us  again  ! 


Come 


»; 


gh  the 


Come  back  from  that  august  and  princely  Isle, 

That  ever-during  jewel  of  the  deep  ! 
Back  from  the  Council-board,  and  all  thy  peers  , 
Back  from  the  royal  Mother's  generous  smile, — 

Her  ready  tear,  when  there  was  need  to  weep, 

And  thou  hadst  fall'n  to  silence  and  to  sleep. 
Come  back  to  us,  thou  child  of  glorious  years  ! 

As  swell  the  waves  through  which  thy  ship  shall 
sweep, 
So  heave  our  breasts  with  the  proud  birth  of  tears  ! 


\\ 


low. 


Come  back,  thou  man  belov'd  !  as  if  once  more 

To  gaze  upon  the  hills  to  thee  so  dear, — 
Alike,  or  flowery  green,  or  frosty  hoar  ; 

The  sweet,  wild  streams,  so  innocently  clear  ; 
The  surf-swept  walls  by  thy  Acadian  shore  ; 

Thy  martial  city;  thy  domestic  cheer : 
Come  to  thine  own,  who  wait;  though  evermore 

What  pleased  thee  best  thou  shalt  not  see,  nor 
hear ! 


io6 


PRO  MEMORIA. 


Come  to  thy  home,  all  silent — caring  not 
The  pageant's  mournful  splendor  wails  for  thee  ! 

Yet  caring  that  thou  hadst  a  home,  a  cot, 
With  loved  ones,  in  that  city  by  the  sea  ; — 

Caring  for  these,  if  thou  could 'st  care  for  aught ; 
But  earthly  cares  and  sorrows  may  not  be 

Where  now  thou  art.     We  envy  thee  thy  lot ! 

We  praise  thee,  not  that  thou  wast  strong  and  wise, 

And  manly-made,  and  good  to  K^ok  upon  ; 

Not  that  thou  hadst  the  garb  of  beauty  on  ; 
But  thou  didst  love  what  the  Imnujrlals  prize, — 

Truth,  justice,  honor, — treasures  purely  won  : 
These  godlike  things  seem  fairest  in  the  skies  ; 

They  seem  the  fairer  here,  now  thou  art  gone  ! 

Lo  !  Britain's  sons  are  in  thy  funeral  train  ! 

In  minsters  high  the  mournful  dirge  is  sung. 
As  when  her  chiefs  of  state  conmiand  the  strain, 
Coming  to  rest  poets  and  kings  among. 

Now  float  thy  funeral  car  !  a  thund'rous  roar 
Aimounce  thy  parting  from  that  sovereign  shore! 
Hasten  thy  course,  O  ship  !  o'er  the  imperial  main! 


THE  PARTING. 


M « 


rain, 


main 


OUR  summer  clays  at  home  were  sped, 
Tlie  carriage  waited  at  the  door, 
WhcMi,  falteringly,  my  father  said, — 

"  We  part, — but  h'ere  we  meet  no  more." 

*' We  meet  no  more?"'  O,  knell-like  word 
To  this  sad  world  wherein  we  grieve  ! 
The  ear  may  hear — the  ear  hatli  heard  ; 
The  heart  refuses  to  believe. 

The  memorable  hours,  how  bright  ! 

When  they  who  love  together  fare  ; 
But  oh  !  the  bowers  of  lost  delight, 

With  solitude  and  silence  there  ! 

How  break,  the  ties  that  first  we  wove  ! 

When  life's  deep  roots  asunder  tear, 
How  beats  the  heart  of  bleeding  love 

In  the  chill  bosom  of  despair  ! — 

But  that  His  balm  distils  like  dew, 
And  sweetens  our  forlorn  estate, 

VV' hose  tender  mercies,  ever  new. 
Refuse  to  leave  us  desolate. 


, 


107 


:p 


vs 


V .  s . 


n  c  v>'.^ 


C4f  ill 


Wi 


•Z    o<tc  "»-C 


io8 


THE  PARTING. 


Still,  as  we  went,  we  gazed  behind, 
Through  stre.iming  eyes  to  see  again 

The  chastened  ones,  of  constant  mind. 
Who  feel  their  woe,  nor  will  complain 

Through  all  that  vacant  autumn  day 
The  out-bound  train's  determined  roar 

Through  rock-hewn  passes,  seemed  to  say, — 
"  W^<?  meet  no  more — we  meet  no  more/' 

From  the  loved  land  that  gave  them  birth 
The  brood  fraternal  all  had  flown  ; 

And  by  their  desolated  hearth 
The  drooping  parents  wept  alone. 

Thrice,  boding  heart !  this  head  hath  bowed 
With  sorrow  thou  could 'st  not  foretell ; 

The  cloud  most  feared  was  empty  cloud. 
The  bolt  unseen  was  that  which  fell. 

For  it  was  truth  my  father  spake  ; — 
Far  vision  hath  the  eye  grown  dim  : 

Ye  storms,  upon  our  heads  that  break. 
Rage  I  ye  can  bring  no  harm  to  him  ! 

The  fire  is  quenched  that  burned  at  eve  ; 

The  step  is  silent  on  the  stair  ; 
The  night-winds,  'round  the  house  that  grieve, 

Find  love  and  light  no  longer  there.  ^ 


7i>. 


CiU 


OO-V^*        >S       h»w         C    oifi 


THE  PARTING. 


ly,— 
» » 


led 


And  yet  he  lives,  my  heart  divines 
(The  pleasinK^  thought  my  grief  beguiled,) 

Where  the  eternal  sunrise  shines 
That  haunts  tiie  spirit  of  the  child. 

He  lives,  where  Truth  and  Beauty  are 
V\  ,th  Ilnn  he  loved,  whose  form  and  face 

Beam  lustrous  as  the  morning  star-- 
There  is  my  fatlier's  chosen  place  ! 

And  he  is  glad  that  Song  is  there. 

Whose  by-gone  notes  in  memory  seem 
l^ike  some  trans-    ndent  chorus  rare 

Some  mysf      ..,sic  heard  in  dream,  v 

For  his  the  cadence,  as  of  vore 
^    We  heard  the  solily  soothing  strain  • 
line  thosr  :cho  meet  shall  pari  no  more 
^>idfrinids  lof^i  parted  meet  again. ' ' 


109 


I  eve, 


We. 


"i^trt        SK 


Sf  >i«  e^s 


tcqt 


Her. 


BY  THE  GASPEREAU. 

DO  you  remember,  dear,  a  night  in  June, 
So  long,  so  long  ago, 
When  we  were  lovers,  wandering  with  the  moon, 
Reside  the  Gaspereau  ? 

The  river  plashed  and  gurgled  thro'  its  glooms. 

Slow  stealing  to  the  sea, 
A  silver  serpent ;  in  the  apple-blooms 

The  soft  air  rustled  free. 

And  o'er  the  river  from  afar  the  sound 

Of  mellow  tinkling  bells 
From  browsing  cattle  stiind  the  ei  ho  round 

In  gentle  falls  and  swells. 

No  sound  of  human  sorrow,  nor  of  mirth, 

Streamed  on  that  peace  abroad. 
And  all  the  night  leaned  low  upon  the  earth 

Like  the  calm  face  gf  Ciod. 

And  in  our  hearts  there  breathed,  like  life,  a  breath 

Of  most  delicious  pain  : 
It  seemed  a  whisper  ran  from  birth  to  death, 

And  back  to  birth  again, 

no 


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•K  \^'ol 


^i)-\     "^vvee' 


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'■3  C-(   >^ 


^'On:  A  AD  SONG. 

And  l)ou.Kl  in  airy  c  hains  our  shining;  hours, 
i  ast,  present  and  to  come 
one  sweet  whole,  stroi.K  to  defy  the  powers 
Of  change,  till  time  be  duini;. 


Iti 


Yes.  you  remember,  dear,  that  night  in  June. 
So  long,  so  long  ago, 

When  vve  were  h.vers.  wandering  with  the  moon, 
Heside  the  Gaspereau. 


LOVE  AND  SONG. 

OVK  sayeth  :     Sing  of  me  ! 

What  else  is  worth  a  song  ? 
I  had  refrained. 
Lest  I  should  do  Love  wrong. 


L 


II 
I  > 


'  Clean  hands,  and  a  pure  heart. 
Ipiayed.  "and  I  will  sing  :  ' 

But  all  I  gained 
Brought  to  my  vvord  no  wing. 

Stars,  sunshine,  seas  and  skies. 
Earth's  graves,  the  holy  hills' 

Were  all  in  vain  ; 
No  breath  the  dumb  pipe  fills. 


112 


LOVF  AND  SONG. 


I  dreamed  of  splendid  praise, 
And  Ikauty  watching  by 

(iray  shores  of  Pain  : 
My  sonj^  turned  to  a  sigh. 

I  saw  in  virgin  eyes 
The  mother  warmth  that  makes 

The  dead  earth  (iuicl< 
In  ways  no  Spring  awakes. 

No  song.     In  vain  to  siglit 

Life's  clear  arch  heavenward  sprang. 

Heart  still,  or  sick  1 
— I  loved!    j^l/r,  then  I  sant^  ! 


Note.— The   pocins  "By  the  Tiaspereau  "  and  "Love  and 
SoHR,"  are  by  my  brother,  Rev.  Hurton  VV.  Lockliart. 


<es 


prang. 


Love  and 


rt. 


